Princess, Interrupted
by Ruby Casablanca
Summary: Princesse Geneviève Schreave de Sauveterre of France needs to marry if she wants to inherit the throne. Since she won't choose a man for herself, her parents instate an age-old Illéan tradition: The Selection. However, Gen is hiding a secret from the entire country that will not only jeopardize her legitimacy, but turn this Selection into her worst nightmare. Former SYOC.
1. Everything is Awesome

Everything is Awesome

Paris, the city of lights. Or, as Princesse Geneviève Amelie Eadlyn Schreave de Sauveterre liked to call it: Paris, the city that's lit.

Normally she'd be referring to her favorite club or hotspot downtown, but tonight she was talking about the palace. Only twenty minutes away from the great city, her home was currently bustling with priceless jewels and designer ballgowns. The halls of the ancestral palace of Versailles were flooded with guests from all over the world brought together to celebrate the eldest princess' twenty-second birthday. It was quite the ordeal - a night to remember for all time.

Because tonight was the night.

Tonight was the night Gen was finally going to be honest and tell her parents the truth. Everyone was going to be tipsy off of champagne and wine; everyone was going to be in a great mood, and it was her birthday! No one was allowed to get mad at her on her birthday - it was like a get out of jail free card. This was the best time to come clean, and whatever happened after she could live with. She hoped.

She'd been skittering around the edges of the ballroom, anxiously waiting for a good time to snag her parents. They were always so busy, whether it be dealing with Grandmère's nonsense or entertaining foreign diplomats, that it was hard to get their attention. She was also in high demand. Nearly everyone she passed wanted a word or a picture or a statement for the morning papers. They wanted to know everything: if twenty-two felt any different than twenty-one (not at all), who designed her strapless indigo ballgown (Versace), what her favorite present was (she hadn't opened any yet)...if there was love on the horizon (...no comment). It got to be overwhelming.

Which was how she found herself standing in the corner behind a curtain, trying to disappear to get a moment's peace while drinking enough champagne to calm her nerves. She wasn't paying attention to her surroundings, which is why the tall blond boy walking her way came as a surprise.

"Honestly, this party is a gift from God," Beau announced, already tipsy judging by the sway in his step as he sidled up next to Gen. "I've counted no less than ten beautiful men and I've only been around half the room."

"Managed to get the half with the bar in it too I see," Gen teased, taking in his slightly disheveled state and the half-empty glass in his left hand.

Even inebriated, Beau managed to look like he had just stepped off the runway in a three piece suit and perfectly coiffed hair. No doubt all the tabloids in Paris had already snapped shots of his look for all of haute couture to copy in the morning. He was something of a trend setter, not to mention an icon to the entire LGBTQ population in France. No matter what he did, he was always being documented, always being photographed, always being interviewed. Everyone wanted the inside scoop on the world's only openly gay royal, and that's how he liked it. If only they knew...

"Okay rude," Beau protested, pursing his lips in a frown. "As my sister you are supposed to support me."

"As your sister, I _am_ supporting you, just not your drinking habits."

"You say as you down your what - third glass of champagne?"

"Second, thank you," Gen corrected. "I'm trying not to get shit faced within the first hour."

"Lame," Beau moaned.

Gen chuckled under her breath and returned her focus to the party at hand. The ballroom was filled to the brim with royalty, nobility, celebrities, politicians, and even a few normal rich people lucky enough to score invitations. Gen knew less than a quarter of the guests, she suspected, if she was lucky. Networking and socializing outside of her core group of longtime friends had never been a strong suit of hers. That had always been Beau's expertise; even now, leaning up against her for support so he didn't fall over and half out his mind, Beau was nodding and smiling and waving to people he knew. This was why they were so close, Gen suspected. They complimented each other so well. Gen was there to hold him together and he helped her navigate social situations.

However, there was one person Gen was searching for in particular, one person she wanted to see above all others. Gen thought it would be easy to pick out a hijab in a sea of tiaras, but the task was proving more difficult than she expected. She craned her neck, trying to see over the German Chancellor's bald head, when Beau stumbled forward, disrupted by the movement. He sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose as he noticed what Gen was doing.

"Don't bother," Beau said, drawing Gen's attention back to him. "Samara isn't here. Shocking..."

"Don't be like that," Gen said as she frowned, her spirits dampened. She had been looking forward to seeing the Saudi Princess. It had been so long since they'd spoken outside of their letters.

"I don't know what you see in that girl," Beau said, his tone disapproving. "She's the most shallow, vain creature I've ever met. Plus, she treats you like shit."

"She does not," Gen countered, growing irritated. Beau had never liked Samara, and expressed his dislike every time she brought her up. It was annoying, a fight they'd had a thousand times before and not one she wanted to repeat on her birthday. "You just don't know her like I do."

"I'll consider that a blessing."

"Ha ha fuck you."

Gen pouted and crossed her arms over her chest, turning away from her brother before she had the urge to slap him. The attack was unwarranted. It wasn't like she ever commented on the company he kept or the guys he took to his bed. He could be such an ass sometimes! As if to be willfully defiant, Gen kept searching the room, purposely stepping away from Beau this time so he had to stumble to catch up to her.

"Stop moping. For Christ's sake, this is a party," Beau sighed, waving over a butler and plucking one of the flutes of champagne off his tray. "Here, drink this. Maybe it'll lighten you up."

"Trying to get me drunk?" Gen asked, arching an eyebrow critically.

"No," Beau retorted, taking a long gulp of his own glass. "You're just acting scarily like the fun-sucker."

"You know, just because you said that..." Gen trailed off and chugged the entire glass. The bubbles settled uneasily in her stomach - not her finest decision - but the buzz was instantaneous. Immediately the world seemed warmer and nicer. "Where is she by the way?"

"You really think she would deign herself to take part in such impropriety?" Beau asked mockingly, capturing their younger sister's eternally-annoyed voice perfectly, and even though she still wanted to be mad, Gen sniggered. "She's probably holding Vange hostage as she lectures her on the polite way to take a piss."

Gen nearly snorted champagne out her nose. The scenario was hysterical, but more so because it was probably true.

"Poor Evangeline...I don't know how she deals with it."

"I would've strangled Delphine's whiny ass years ago," Beau said rather seriously, and Gen raised her eyebrows high in surprise. It took a lot to be surprised by what Beau said these days; he was, after all, quite outspoken. This topic, however, seemed to get him heated, and he waved a finger towards Gen patronizingly. "Don't give me that look. Just because we're family doesn't mean I have to like her, and don't pretend that you like her either. She's always the first one to throw you under the bus."

Gen only shrugged in reply, knowing Beau's words held some validity. Delphine had never liked her for reasons Gen had never understood, and was always there to tattle whenever Gen was hungover or had shirked off work. Not that that happened all the time, but the few times it did, to Delphine, the world might as well have ended.

"Well, let's not jump to sororicide just yet. You never know. She might grow out of it," Gen said hopefully, knowing she was living in a fairytale if she thought that could ever come true.

"You put way too much faith in people," Beau chided, going back to his drink.

Silence passed between them easily, and thankfully no one stopped by to grab their attention. Gen continued scanning the party, now looking for her parents.

"So, have you told them yet?" Beau interrupted her concentration, looking down at her curiously.

"No..." Gen trailed off, her nerves creeping back and making her whole body jittery. Wasn't the alcohol supposed to cure that? "I haven't been able to get them alone."

"Last I saw, Maman and Papa were speaking to some advisors by the fountain," Beau nodded in the general direction, and sure enough, there they were: Princess Camille and Prince Consort Ahren talking animatedly with men and women in suits far too business-like for a party. But, then again, the government never got a chance to rest.

"I don't want to disturb them. Could be important..."

"Or you're just making excuses to run away like you have the last ten times you've tried to tell them you're a -"

"Will you shut your mouth?" Gen hissed, looking around to make sure no one overheard.

"Stop pussyfooting around this! Just grow a pair and tell them already!" Beau shot back, his voice in a low whisper.

Gen gulped and nodded, resentfully agreeing. He had an annoying habit of being right all the time. Still, she was frozen in place, unable to move under the weight of what she had to do. Beau, tired of her theatrics, rolled his eyes and physically pushed towards the fountain even though he stumbled to catch his balance once she was gone.

There was no going back now. She was standing in the crowd, far away from the safety of Beau with only the option of moving forward. She prayed her hands would stop trembling and that she would stop catching the hem of her gown on her heels. She wasn't looking to embarrass herself publicly just yet. Gen wished she could be as calm and confident as she normally was, and how her mother was in this moment, head held high and proud as she no doubt did something incredibly important. Her mother was the one running things these days, Grandmère all but a figurehead who refused to step down. Her mother had the power to make a difference, which was why this conversation was so important, why Gen needed to stand her ground as she approached the older blonde woman clad in a simple but striking purple gown and sapphire diadem.

" _Ma chérie_ ," her mother greeted, pulling Gen in to kiss both her cheeks. " _Joyeux anniversaire!_ "

" _Merci_ , Maman," Gen replied with a smile, kissing her mother back before stepping aside to greet her father. "Papa."

"Gen," he said jovially as he pulled her into one of his bear hugs that she loved so much. His stubbled scraped against her scalp, but she didn't mind. From this close up, she was able to pick out the specs of grey forming between the usual blond. He was getting older, but he wore it well. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"It's wonderful," Gen said, very grateful for all the hard work her parents went through in pulling this off - from her favorite music (indie rock) to her favorite dessert (chocolate cake). It was all planned perfectly.

"I'm so glad you like it," her mother gushed, leaning up against her father. "We have a big surprise for you!"

"Oh, that's very kind of you," Gen insisted, wondering what they possibly could've gotten her. It's not like she asked for anything huge, or anything at all. She was pretty low maintenance like that. "I actually, uh, have a surprise for you too..."

"Really? But it's _your_ birthday. You didn't have to get us anything," her father said, both of her parents laughing as if the situation were amusing. They wouldn't be laughing soon though...

"I didn't get you anything per say..." Gen trailed off, trying to figure out how to phrase what she wanted to say without being blunt.

"Well, let's do our surprise first, okay?" her mother insisted, cutting Gen off so she could do nothing but nod in agreement.

Her mother kissed her on the forehead before scurrying off with her father. Clearly, whatever this surprise was required prep-work...and the attention of everyone in the room as they were headed towards the dais where the thrones were.

 _Ah Mon Dieu_ , Gen groaned internally, wishing she could fade away into the crowd. She did not need all this attention put on her right before her big revelation.

" _Viens ici_ ," she waved over a butler, plucking two glasses of champagne off the tray - one to chug immediately and the other to chug right after this surprise was over with and it was her turn. The butler only raised on eyebrow as he watched her down the whole flute in seconds flat only to return the emptied glass to the tray. Gen waved the judgmental man off, trying to breathe deeply as her mother gathered the attention of the entire ballroom.

" _Bienvenue mes amis!_ " Her mother's voice carried across the space, everyone watching intently. "Tonight we celebrate the birthday of my eldest daughter, our beloved Princesse Geneviève. Tonight, my little girl turns twenty-two, and I could not be prouder of the compassionate, intelligent young woman she has become. I have no doubt she will one day be the leader this nation deserves. The only thing that could fill my heart more would be if she found someone just as wonderful to share the rest of her life with."

Gen's stomach crept up into her throat, all the champagne in her stomach roiling around so she bordered on sick.

 _What. The fuck._

Gen did not like where this was going. She did not like where this was was going at all and prayed to any god that would listen that someone pull her mother down from that dais before she said something that could not be taken back. But nothing of the sort happened. In fact, her mother passed the microphone off to her father who looked just as insanely excited about this little announcement as she did.

"After much thought and consideration, as both rulers and devoted parents, we have decided to instate an age-old Illéan tradition right here in the heart of France."

 _No_ , Gen's mind whirled, trying to get a grip on what was happening. _No no no no no!_ Was she in some sort of horror movie? Some kind of bad dream? They couldn't possibly have -

"Congratulations darling!" Her mother cried, clasping her hands together as she radiated joy. "You're going to have a Selection!"

The champagne glass slipped from Gen's hands, shattering into a million little pieces on the floor. No one really noticed over the sound of thunderous applause. No one could hear Gen's world falling apart.

Next to her, Beau had returned and was dying of laughter, red in the face as he chuckled. "Oh _c'est parfait_!"

Three dozen super hot guys living in her house and fighting to win her heart. Yeah, it was perfect.

Except for the fact that Gen was a fucking lesbian.

* * *

Hello and welcome to my newest project: _Princess, Interrupted_ \- a male SYOC! This is a story set in the _To Build a Home_ universe - some of you may recognize Geneviève as the baby Camille and Ahren had towards the end of the story, as well as the catalyst that brought Kaden and Ahren back together. That being said, you will not have to have read _To Build a Home_ to understand what is going on. Even when characters from that story make appearances in this one, it will all be very straightforward, I promise. That being said, those of you who read _To Build a Home_ know it got pretty serious and intense. This story will not be like that. This is intended to be lighthearted and fun (i.e no one will be dying horrible deaths or blowing up or anything like that), however, it will be more mature (as you can probably already tell from the first chapter) so if you're not okay with more mature themes and language, maybe you want to skip out on this one. I do want to stay in a T rating, but if that ever changes I'll be sure to let you guys know beforehand.

Also, fun little tidbit, there will be French interspersed throughout the story. This is to allude to the assumption that everything that is written in English is actually being spoken in French. I didn't write this whole story in French because 1) I'm not that good at the language though I have studied it 2) I doubt you all are fluent French speakers - neither am I and 3) That would be way too much work. The French I use will almost always be for inconsequential things like greetings or common phrases, never for something important, so don't feel like you have to know the language to understand or enjoy the story because you don't, I promise!

I hope that intro piqued your interest into wanting to submit a guy. The next chapter I post will have the details for submissions and SYOC rules.


	2. Breakfast at Genèvieve's

A/N: Wow! Thanks so much for the warm reception you guys! I check out of fan fiction for the night and the next day I've already gotten more than 10 submissions! I guess I'll have some major decisions to make haha! If you still want to submit a guy though, go ahead! There aren't any reservations or a first-come first-serve rule in place, so there is still a chance for your guy to be accepted! Judging by the rate things are going, **I am going to close new submissions by midnight tonight **so if you want to create a character, now is the time! If I've already talked to you about submitting a guy, then this doesn't apply to you since I know to expect a guy from you. This also does not apply to those of you with Pinterest boards and those who are still working on their forms/have already sent in a partial form. No need to panic - you still have plenty of time to send in the forms, I promise! I don't want to rush perfection, though I would be eternally grateful to have them sooner rather than later so I can get the ball rolling :)

If I haven't replied to your form yet, don't freak out! I haven't replied to anyone with a definite yes or no. It's because I'm still reading through everything and trying to make up my mind before I commit to anyone. This is to be more fair and give everyone a fighting chance. Don't worry - you'll be hearing from me soon with an answer, probably in the next few days. If I really can't decide on who I want, I might expand the number of spots because these submissions so far have been pretty awesome that it's so hard to pick!

I just want to say thank you again! I wasn't expecting so much hype for this story because it's pretty different from what you normally see in the fandom. You guys are the best, and I love you all :) Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

Breakfast at Geneviève's

Gen woke up the next morning to blinding sunlight and the most intense ringing in her ears she'd ever experienced. It only got worse when she tried to sit up and her stomach revolted, causing her to scramble out of bed and run into the bathroom just before she heaved up the entire bottle's worth of champagne she consumed the night before into the toilet. She felt like death warmed over, like someone had hit her with a truck multiple times.

"Look who woke up on the wrong side of the rainbow," Beau's voice singsonged from her bathroom door.

"Fuck off will you," Gen groaned, clutching at her stomach and her head simultaneously. It felt like her brain was going to pound out of her skull. This was, quite possibly, the worst hangover she'd ever had.

"Weren't you trying _not_ to get shitfaced last night?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Gen shot back. "I said go away."

"Nope, not gonna happen," Beau denied, reaching down under her sink and pulling out some pain killers. Then he turned the faucet on and filled up a glass of water before extending them both to her. "Take these and get dressed. Maman and Papa are waiting for you to show up for breakfast in the dining hall."

Gen reluctantly did as she was told, swallowing the three little red pills and sloppily downing the glass of water. Now that she was rehydrated some, the ringing died down and the spots in her eyes cleared enough so she didn't run into anything as she stood. Gravity still did not agree with her inebriated body, and vertigo nearly sent her falling back down on her ass, but it was progress. She didn't need to lean on Beau to walk anywhere, so things could be worse.

On the way out the bathroom, they ran into Elyan, Gen's usually reliable but now flustered maid. The young woman was red in the face and nervous, strands of reddish blonde hair falling out from her perfect bun as she looked concertedly between Gen and Beau, thick eyebrows knit together in worry.

" _Je suis désolé, Votre Altesse_ ," she apologized, curtseying deeply. "I was not in time to stop him."

" _Pas du problème_ ," Gen assured, shooting a withering look towards her brother. "I doubt there is anyone on this Earth who can stop him once he sets his mind to things."

"Quite right," Elyan agreed, much calmer now that she knew she wasn't going to get fired. As if that would ever happen. Gen couldn't last a week without Elyan's help, and she let the maid know it almost every single day.

"Elyan, will you go and get my grey hoodie from my closet?"

"The one with the pocket in the front?" Elyan clarified, already on her way.

"Yeah," Gen confirmed, rummaging around the piles of clothes layered overtop of the chairs in her sitting area. "There's a pair of jeans around here that I think are still clean."

"You disgust me," Beau said, and while most people would think he was teasing, Gen knew he meant it. No doubt the state of her disorganized room was giving him hives.

"You know, for someone who never has their life together, you think you'd be more relaxed," Gen pointed out, feeling a sense of victory when she found her prized pants.

"I'm a mess _of_ a person, not a _messy_ person. There's a difference," Beau clarified.

"Okay then Monsieur Mess, wait for me by the door. I'll be out in a sec." Gen instructed, shooing Beau away so she could get changed in private.

As soon as the familiar feel of denim and cotton hit her body, Gen sighed with contentment. Not that she didn't love ballgowns; they were gorgeous, but they weren't comfy. Unlike the scratchy, corseted confines of her gowns, she could live all day every day in her favorite pair of jeans, and she totally would if all of France would let her. However, she had appearances to uphold and all that nonsense, so jeans were reserved only for days in. When she was queen, she would change that. Jeans all day every day - jeans to formal events if she could get away with it.

"Off to breakfast," Gen told Elyan once she had pulled her hair up into a messy bun. "Anything I should know about going on today?"

"You're free as a bird," Elyan replied, holding out Gen's favorite pair of flats.

"Perfect. I might spend the day in the Hall of Mirrors. Don't wait up for me," Gen said as she hopped into her shoes, already half way out the door. She couldn't hear Elyan's response before the door shut completely, leaving her alone once more with Beau.

"Ah yes, the vagabond princess has arrived," her beloved brother commented upon her exiting the room. Gen cuffed him on the side of the head as retaliation.

They walked the long trip down to the dining room side by side, Gen proud of herself for not stumbling nearly as much as she thought she would. The palace was far emptier than the night before, all the guests surely returned to their own mansions and palaces across the globe. For a moment, Gen's thoughts lingered on Samara, or more specifically, Samara's absence from her party. Perhaps something had come up in the peninsula that required the princess' attention; maybe she wasn't blatantly ignoring her like Beau thought. Gen made a mental note to check with advisors for any news from Saudi later. If she asked at breakfast, Beau would call her out for it, and that would almost certainly get ugly.

" _Bon matin_ ," Gen greeted her family as she walked into the dining hall confidently despite her lateness.

Breakfast was almost over by the looks of things, but there was a still a plate and a steaming cup of coffee waiting for her, per usual. Her father was busy reading the paper and her mother scratching away at documents while Evangeline stuck her nose in a novel so thick it took both her hands to hold it. Delphine was watching intently, nose crinkled in distaste, clearly disapproving of Gen's unorthodox appearance. Louis was the only one who seemed excited to see her, the hyperactive nine-year-old eaning up eagerly for his morning hug. Louis was the unexpected "accident" of the family, but Gen was always remarkably glad he was there with them; he always loved her and never judged, two qualities that made him her favorite.

"Did you see! I made an airplane!" Louis said excitedly, holding up a crumpled sheet of paper that at one point had probably been folded nicely but was now ruined from abuse.

" _C'est magnifique_ ," Gen praised, ruffling his curly dirty blonde hair.

" _Joyeux anniversaire,_ " Delphine interrupted, handing over a small gift wrapped in grey paper and tied with a black bow. Very cheery.

Gen unwrapped the box and pulled off the lid to reveal a needlepoint hoop and various swatches of cloth and spools of thread. What was this? The Dark Ages? Delphine looked pleased with herself, and Gen could practically hear her thinking, _Every young woman needs a proper hobby_. With their parents present, Gen was forced to muster a smile.

" _Merci_ ," Gen thanked her sister obligatorily. "Though my birthday was yesterday. You would have known that had you bothered to show up."

"I had more important things to do than socialize," Delphine shrugged, unapologetic per usual. It ground on Gen's nerves and took all her willpower not to stab her fruit and imagine it as Delphine's conceited red head.

"Still, you missed quite the party last night," Beau continued, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched Delphine's expression darken.

"Somehow I seriously doubt that," Delphine sneered, subtly rolling her eyes as she pushed back her chair and rose, done with family time. "Mère, may I please be excused from the table?"

Gen watched her mother as she shifted her attention briefly from her papers to Delphine before nodding. "Of course Delphi."

"It _Delphine,_ Mère," Delphine corrected. "I'm not a child anymore."

"My apologies then, Delphine."

The younger girl smiled complacently and pushed in her chair. She walked a few feet from the table before stopping abruptly, turning, and looking down critically at her twin who was still seated. "Come, Evangeline."

Evangeline blinked her large green eyes a few times, still taken by surprise at being summoned so suddenly. Still, she did as she was told and closed her book, got up from the table, and followed Delphine without a word. All of them watched as the dining room doors swung shut, and it was impossible to ignore the collective exhale everyone remaining at the table made when the twins were finally gone.

"Okay there is something seriously wrong with that girl," Beau commented, dangling his fork around as he pointed to the door.

"She's just a little too serious sometimes," their mother replied, making a pointed look between her two eldest children before adding, "You could both take a page out of her book."

"I'll pass," Beau scoffed, going back to his scrambled eggs.

"Needlepoint, Maman? Seriously?" Gen asked incredulously as she raised the small wooden hoop in the air. At least her father was on her side, hiding a smile as he laughed under his breath. "This is far beyond ' _a little too serious_ '."

"Thoughtfulness is not her forte," her father conceded, getting up to come around with another gift, this one brightly wrapped and much larger in size. "This might cheer you up. It's from your Oncle Kaden and Tante Finnley. They apologize for not coming to the party but they hope this will make up for it."

"Well, I can't blame them. They do have six kids..." Gen trailed off, the thought of having so many children to look after her worst nightmare. How Illéa got anything done these days was lost on her.

She pulled apart the paper, removed the lid of the box, and was stunned by what lied underneath. It was one of Tante Eadlyn's old sketchbooks, one of the few remaining that hadn't gone into the Illéan archives or put in museums or actually created as a tribute to the late queen. Gen had always held a deep admiration for her aunt that bordered on idolization. As a child, Gen aspired to be her, and if she could turn out to be half the woman her aunt was then she could ask for nothing more. Of course her father would say things like Tante Eadlyn's obstinate nature was not something to covet, but Gen argued that it was a matter of perspective. As a young female in a role of great power, sticking to your guns was a challenge not many could meet.

Running her fingers lightly over the pages, Gen could feel each line and each change of color, each stroke made with purpose and precision. She would expect nothing less.

"Tante Eadlyn's sense of style was so fierce. Her eye for fabric was unparalleled," Beau admired, actually getting misty-eyed over the drawings. "I wish she was still alive today. We'd have so much in common."

"These were some of her earlier ones," her father mused as he pointed out the dates in the bottom righthand corners, a sad smile pulling upwards on his lips.

"I-I don't know what to say..." Gen trailed off, speechless. This was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given her. It was almost too much to accept.

"Write to your uncle, tell him thank you for the gift. It'll be more than enough," her father said, placing one strong hand on her shoulder. "All this was doing was gathering dust back in Illéa. Now it's in the hands of someone who will truly appreciate it. Better, no?"

Gen nodded and placed the sketchbook back in the box, sealing it gently as so it would not get damaged. This more than made up for Delphine's shitty present. At the moment, her relatives in Illéa were better parents to her than her actual ones. Tante Finnley and Oncle Kaden would never have forced her into a Selection, especially Oncle Kaden who knew what it was like to be pressured into something unwanted. Sure, he made the best of it and seemed to be really happy, but statistically there had to come a time when The Selection failed. Gen was currently shaping up to be that failure.

Breakfast was being cleared from the table now, her father and Louis already heading out the door while her mother lingered behind to continue working. Gen got up from her seat, heading her mother's way. They needed to talk about last night - mostly about how fucked up it was. Beau remained behind, possibly waiting for Gen or even more possibly just wanting to be nosy.

"Maman, can I talk to you for a second?" Gen asked and her mother nodded, gesturing for her to sit down in the empty seat across from her. However, Gen stayed standing, doubt gnawing at her nerves. What was so difficult about talking to her own mother for heaven's sake? "Do I really have to have a Selection?"

The room grew so quiet Gen could hear nothing but the blood rushing to her own ears. Even Beau was blessedly silent, watching the interaction with intense curiosity. Her mother sat up a bit straighter and closed the folder containing all her documents. She had a business face on, the no-nonsesne type expression she wore when she went into meetings.

"Your father and I are not changing our minds on this," her mother sighed. Clearly this form of resistance was expected.

"How is this fair? You never even told me about it!" Gen protested, trying her best not to sound like a whiny child but the enraged future queen that she was. "Why can't you just let me pick my own spouse in my own time?"

"We tried Gen," her mother countered, now annoyed. "If you remember, on your eighteenth birthday we told you that you needed to start looking for suitors. We reminded you every few months afterwards, brought in matchmakers, and gave you multiple lists of eligible bachelors all of which you threw away. Don't you remember the promising young gentlemen we invited to your parties? Queen Nicoletta even brought her own son one year; you barely spoke two words to him."

"Okay but - "

"No buts," her mother interrupted. "We've given you all the time we can afford. Your Grandmère is very ill and soon she will no longer be with us. France will be in need of a new monarch and I want that monarch to be you."

"I want that too."

Wanting was an understatement. Gen had been preparing herself to be queen since the time she could walk. It was a role she was born to play, one she craved to assume once the time was right. One that her mother had always entertained and began seriously considering once it was evident that Grandmère wasn't stepping down until someone pried the crown from her cold, dead hands.

"I know you do," her mother agreed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "But I also know the law, which states that any reigning monarch must be sealed in a marriage with the intent to carry on the royal lineage before ascending to the throne. If you want me to abdicate to you, you need to find a husband plain and simple."

"Why not change the law?" Gen asked. Her mother had more than enough influence to pass a vote. One quick swoop of her pen and the deal would be done and the law would be no more. Easy peasy.

"Despite my more involved role, I am not Queen. Your Grandmère would be the one with that kind of power and she is a staunch traditionalist. Besides, why should she change a law that is not broken? And not only not broken, but one that ensures that our family stays in power for as long as possible?" her mother challenged, and Gen's throat closed up. If she were brave, she would seize this opportunity and come clean about her sexuality. But Gen wasn't brave; in fact, Gen was downright terrified that if she told the truth, the next words out of her mother's mouth would be a request for her immediate abdication - the death of her lifelong dream. It was an unacceptable alternative, even more so because the alternative would be passing the crown to Delphine, and over Gen's dead body would she let that tyrant sit on her throne. Her mother only sighed gently and leaned back in her chair, suddenly looking far older than her age. "I know that this is not what you had planned; you get your stubborn streak from your father's side. But even your Tante Eadlyn whom you adore so much ended up accepting that her Selection was a good thing in the end. You'll come to that realization once you have someone to call your own."

Gen tried to force a smile, but it ended up coming out half-assed. Her mother rose from her chair to wrap Gen into a hug, but Gen wasn't really in the mood to be affectionate, not when her parents were effectively imprisoning the biggest part of herself.

"I only want what's best for you, _ma chérie_. When you become a mother, you'll understand."

All Gen could do was swallow her protests and nod. The conversation was over. There was nothing else she could say or do that would get her out of a Selection. Her mother released her from the hug before gathering her papers and leaving the dining room. Now it was just Gen and Beau, the former boiling with anger and the latter red in the face as he tried not to break into hysterics.

"Stop laughing," Gen hissed at Beau, not appreciating his snark at the moment. "This isn't funny."

"This is hilarious," Beau countered, wiping the corners of his eyes. "You're neck deep in this shit now and I'm just imagining these guys faces when they show up and find out you're not into them and _wooooooooo_ this is going to be one hell of a show!"

"Well if this _shit_ is really going down, then I'm going to need your help!"

"Me? Why drag me into this?" Beau asked, suddenly horrified.

"Because I don't know the first thing about flirting with guys, or romancing guys, or just guys in general! They're like aliens...weird testosterone-fueled aliens."

"You sound like a child."

"You'd be asking the same exact thing from me if Maman told you to have a Selection and marry a girl."

Beau shuddered at the thought.

"Fair point," he admitted, furrowing his brow as he made up his mind. "Alright, I'll do it."

"Thank you," Gen replied, genuinely grateful and also somewhat relieved. At least now she wouldn't have to walk through hell blindfolded.

"But there has to be something in it for me," Beau stipulated, causing Gen to become reproachful.

"Name your price."

"Oh no no no, not a price," Beau chided. "You'll owe me a favor. Anytime, anything, no questions asked."

Gen took a moment to think this over. On one hand, Beau could be a real asset to her. On the other hand, this favor could get her into some deep trouble and she was an idiot if she thought otherwise. But she was desperate for guidance and Beau was the only one who knew of her fragile situation. He had been reliable up until now. She just had to have faith that he wouldn't screw her over when the time came to do his part.

"Fine. Just so long as it's legal."

"Deal," Beau accepted her hand and shook, a smug grin lining his lips. "I cannot _wait_ to steal all of your boyfriends for myself."

Gen only laughed. "Please do. God knows I don't want them."


	3. An International Affair

A/N: New chapter! And you get to see a familiar face! I expect to introduce the guys in a few chapters, so if you've got half forms turned in or told me you wanted to submit, be sure to get the rest of them to me ASAP :) If you still want to submit or really want to be a part of the story, I can work with you to have your character included NOT as a Selected but as an additional character. I've essentially made all my decisions on plot, so this story should be picking up soon! Hope you guys enjoy! Thanks so much for your support!

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An International Affair

True to her word, Gen went straight from breakfast to the Hall of Mirrors. It was her favorite place in the palace to go and unwind, something mesmerizing in the way a thousand different versions of herself were moving in synch. There was a poetry to it, the idea that there were many different paths she could take, that any version of herself could make any number of decision, a comfort while she was currently going through one of the worst situations of her life. That, and it was super trippy to screw with her reflections when she was drunk. Not that she was drunk now (though she really wanted to be) but it was just one of the perks. Now, she was simply lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and trying to count the number of crystals on the antique chandeliers.

The day was shaping up to be a horrible one. Not only had her mother shot down her protests to this super-unfair Selection, but her advisors had finally gotten around to passing along some recent reports on Saudi. They were spotless, not a single incidence in weeks. Gen supposed she should have been happy about that; Samara was safe and World War IV wasn't going to happen any time soon. However, that didn't stop the feeling of hurt and insecurity from settling deep in the darker parts of Gen's mind.

 _Why didn't Samara show up to the party?_ Gen thought, sitting up and flipping through pages and pages of dossiers. She'd practically memorized them by now. There was nothing keeping Samara in Saudi, nothing better to do when your country was at peace and you were actually doing better than most of the free nations of the world. Had Gen done something to offend her the last time they were together? No, that was impossible. They had just been at a small party at Queen Nicoletta's over the summer and Gen made sure not to drink that night, knowing how much sobriety meant to the very religious princess. That meant Gen was at the top of her game and couldn't say anything stupid...Unless Beau said something stupid. Or mean. Or both - and he would. It was in his nature, and he had done it before. Gen distinctly recalled one Holiday Dinner being red in the face with mortification thinking that Samara would never talk to her again while her parents tried their best to appease an angered King Abbas.

Gen groaned and hit her head against the floor with a thud. Why did girls have to be so complicated? Why did she have to have a crush on someone so far away and who was so unfortunately straight it was painful? But then again she could also ask why Samara had to be so pretty and have such a nice laugh and dark eyes that sparkled whenever she picked up on something interesting. The list could go on and on and on...and now was the part when Beau usually came in and smacked her across the head and said that she should start acting more like the future Queen of France than some love-sick schoolgirl.

But how was it her fault for falling for such a strong, intelligent, powerful woman? She couldn't have done much better. It's not like she was stooping down to Beau's level and picking out B-list celebrities and supermodels to use for a night then never call back. Beau wouldn't know a real relationship - or real feelings for that matter - if it bit him in the ass.

Of course, what use were her wants or feelings for anyone worth now that she was being forced into death by three dozen hot guys. Gen was only assuming they were hot. They could be ugly and scrawny horrible human beings. For her own peace of mind, she hoped for the latter.

Disgruntled, Gen pulled herself up into a standing position, feeling the blood rush back to all the other neglected limbs of her body. She needed to get going, needed to get out of her own head before she ended up punching and shattering a mirror. She had the misfortune of finding out just how mad her mother could get for that very reason. Gathering up her papers, Gen headed out of the Hall of Mirrors. That and it was almost time for dinner, and Elyan would surely be pacing around the room just waiting for her to show up.

On her way out the hall, Gen caught sight of something strange out the window. There was the normal sunset over the sprawling gardens, the normal amount of noise filtering in from the palace grounds, but there was an unusual movement in the form of a long black limo rolling down the gravel driveway. This was not the time for visitors, and no family was expected. Maybe Oncle Osten was back from his trip to Russia. Maybe it was Oncle Kaden and Tante Finnely showing up to celebrate her birthday belatedly.

Curious, Gen headed towards the main hall. She knew she was being nosy, choosing to hide behind some large, heavy curtains instead of facing the guest head on. However, if this was some sort of surprise, she didn't want to be the one to spoil it. A few moments later, the front doors swung open to let in the brisk winter air as well as a very well dressed woman in traditional Indian garb. She strode confidently across the hall, her heels clacking against the stone with each heavy step. Her short dark hair whipped around her face as she looked for any sign of life.

" _Bienvenue,_ Lady Subramani," one of the doormen said, rushing up to take her coat. There were other valets trickling in behind her carrying lots of luggage. Whoever she was, she was planning on staying for a long time.

"No, not anymore," the woman corrected, letting out a long-suffering sigh as if this was a sticking point for her. "The divorce was finalized last Monday. It's just Bloomsdale now."

" _Je suis désolé_ , Madame Bloomsdale," the valet apologized, scurrying off to oversee the transportation of her things.

Bloomsdale...that name seemed so familiar! Gen had sworn she had heard it before not only in reports, but family stories as well...

"Heather, so good to see you," a familiar voice greeted, and when Gen peeked around from her hiding spot, she could see her father approaching the woman as if they were close friends.

"Your Highness," Heather replied cordially, reciprocating his hug. "You're starting to go grey."

"I'd like to think I wear it well," her father replied as he ran his hands over the scruff on his chin.

Heather chuckled under her breath as Gen watched her mother join the party, reaching out for a similar hug as she greeted Heather.

"I trust your flight didn't give you any trouble?"

"Yes, thank you for sending me out in such style."

"Anything for a friend," her mother assured, her smile turning much more sympathetic as she reached out to run a hand comfortingly down Heather's arm. "So sorry to hear about the divorce. I know this must be a trying time, and we really do appreciate you coming on such short notice."

"It's fine, really," Heather assured. "Sometimes these things just don't work out and life must move forward. Siddhartha and I are still very close; his parents took it harder than we did actually. But there won't be any custody battle, which makes things so much easier for Neelam and - "

Heather stopped talking, a frown pursed on her lips as she looked around and realized she was a person short. "Where is that girl?"

"I saw her come in, Madame," the valet said, trying to be helpful while all he seemed to do was further Heather's malcontent.

"NEELAM!" Heather shouted so loud that her voice resonated down the halls. So loud that Gen literally jumped out of surprise, forcing her out of her hiding place. Everyone looked towards the movement, but they were clearly expecting someone else other than the disgruntled princess.

"What the hell is going on?" Gen finally asked, walking over to the small group.

"Have you been hiding behind there this whole time?" Her mother asked, surprised.

"Maybe..."

"You could have just welcomed our guest like a normal, polite person."

"I'm sorry, but when everyone is having a gossip session it's kinda hard not to listen in."

"She's quite the sassy one, isn't she?" Heather commented amusedly, her lips quirking up into a close-lipped smile.

"And who are you, exactly?" Gen asked rather rudely, not a fan of being talked about as if she wasn't right in front of the woman.

"This is Heather Bloomsdale, Vice Counselor to King Mohammad of India and Queen Riya before him," her father replied quickly before things got out of hand.

"And my daughter, Neelam," Heather added, her arms extended to usher way for the young lady clad in a purple and gold anarkali suit who was practically running to meet them. She had long dark hair and even darker eyes that stood in contrast to her mother's bright blue ones. In fact, she hardly looked like her mother at all outside of her complexion, though it was hard to tell while she was smiling widely and her chest was heaving as she was out of breath. It was clear that she was awed to be there, her eyes flickering to every single moulding and sconce, every mural on the wall with fascination unlike her mother's cool, disinterested composure.

"The future Lady Subramani and history enthusiast. Pleasure to meet you," Neelam introduced herself hastily, sticking out her hand for Gen to shake. "Also, have you seen the condition of some of your frescoes just down the hall? They could use some touching up, though their quality after a thousand years is amazing, and -"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves darling, hmmm?" Heather told her daughter with a kind but pointed look. She started to mutter something under her breath, but Gen couldn't pick up on the language.

"The miracles of modern technology," Gen mused through closed lips, tiring of this dog and pony show. Neelam wasn't paying her much attention anymore though; she was back to admiring the palace.

"Heather, as you already could have guessed, this is my _lovely_ daughter Geneviève," her mother introduced as she placed both hands on Gen's shoulders and squeezed a little harder than considered gentle. "Your new project."

"Her _what_?" Gen asked, her voice hiked up a few octaves in total confusion.

"Since you have made it quite clear that you are going to fight this Selection with everything you have, your father and I decided that certain measures needed to be taken so that this doesn't turn into a national disaster," her mother explained gently. "Madame Bloomsdale has generously taken time out of her busy schedule to instruct you on the proper way to go about a Selection, as well as guide you through the process as painlessly as possible. Simply speaking, she will serve as your mentor and the Selection coordinator."

"You found someone to babysit me, is what you're trying to say," Gen simplified dryly, completely unamused.

"Come now Gen, don't be like that," her mother chided, frowning. "You should be grateful for the help. This is an opportunity to learn from one of the best. Madame Bloomsdale has not only led nations, but been in a Selection herself; there is no one more qualified to guide you."

"Thanks, but Beau has already agreed to be my helping hand in this mess," Gen insisted with a thin smile. Why wouldn't they just butt out of her business?

"Your degenerate brother who would sooner claim the Selected for himself and throw this entire Selection into scandal?" Heather quipped, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "No offense, Your Majesties."

"None taken," her father replied. "Gen, Heather is right. Beau may mean well, but we all know that he...well...he doesn't."

"Your brother thinks that everything is a game, and this Selection is far from it," her mother added. "Even if his interests didn't lie where they do, I would have reservations about handing down the crown to someone so irresponsible, which is why I am shocked that you would honestly consider his help."

Gen worked her jaw tightly. She was moments away from exploding, and this harassment was only making her short temper shorter.

"I trust Beau to do what is right," Gen replied as evenly as she could despite the throbbing in her temple.

"I'm glad you do, but I don't," her mother countered, turning away from Gen, closing the conversation.

"Maman-"

"This is not up for further debate," her mother decided, silencing all further protests. Gen snapped her jaw shut so hard her teeth slammed together painfully and she could taste blood. Her mother didn't seem to care, back to smiles and sunshine. "Heather, thank you so much for coming. The valet has taken your bags to the guest suite right down the hall; I hope you'll find the arrangements suitable."

"I'm sure I will," Heather replied. "Come, Neelam. I think we've caused enough trouble for one night."

After some prodding from Heather, Neelam followed her mother down the hall, tracing the same path their luggage took. Gen knew she shouldn't resent them for coming; this was her mother's doing after all. They were going to be a giant pain in her side, just another thing to worry about, another person to hide her secret from. As if her life didn't already have enough problems in it.

"Gen what is wrong with you?" her mother demanded as soon as Heather was out of earshot, her normal gentle nature changed into something hard and angry. She had only seen her mother like this a handful of times before, and Gen would have had more sense to respect her mother's feelings had she not been dealing with some violent feelings of her own.

"What's wrong with _me_?" Gen asked incredulously, her screeching in a way she didn't eve know was possible. "What's wrong with _you_?"

"I beg your pardon?" Her mother asked, pissed off.

"I didn't ask for this!" Gen shouted, no doubt the words echoing off the walls so that the entire palace could hear. "It was bad enough that you made me agree to go through with this but now you've brought in a glorified babysitter to watch over me? Like I can't be trusted to do this myself?"

"Can you?" her mother challenged. "Your Tante Eadlyn agreed to her Selection and then lied to her parents about her intentions before she eliminated half of her suitors in two days. Can you tell me you weren't thinking of trying the same thing?"

"I wasn't going to do that..." Gen lied pitifully, awkward at being read so easily.

"That's what I thought."

"Can you really blame me though?" Gen asked, feeling desperate. "I don't want this. Please don't make me do this."

"Why must you act like I'm torturing you?"

"Because you are!" Gen enforced, her hands running through her hair anxiously seconds away from taking fistfuls and pulling them out. "I don't want this! I have never wanted this and now you're forcing me to marry a stranger in front of the entire country? It was bad enough that they made Illéan royalty go through this shit, but now me?"

"You know why you have to do this Gen," her mother replied blankly, tiredly. "It's one or the other: freedom or the throne. You can't have both, and I'm sorry but that's the way things are."

Gen was about to protest, about to say something about _fuck the way things are, things can be changed and why won't you change them!_ But her father intervened, always the peacemaker, always the one to smooth things over. Gen could never stay mad at him for long, not when those blue eyes looked so damn upset.

"Gen, sweetheart, I realize we are asking a lot from you, but try to see this from our point of view," her father tried to soothe. "All we want is for you to be happy, and we know you will be a great queen someday. But the world demands certain things from us, and as royals, we have to compromise. Please, compromise with us."

Every bone in Gen's body said to fight this. Every logical sensor in her brain was screaming _just tell them already!_ But how could she disappoint her entire country? Her parents were one thing, but the people of France relied on her, they trusted her to lead them one day. Was her happiness really more important than all of theirs? The more she thought about it, the less and less she could justify being so selfish. The more she thought about, the more one answer stood out.

Reluctantly, Gen accepted defeat and nodded her head. She would have a Selection and do it with mild complaining and only the hope that the love of her people would make up for the lack of love in her personal life. She let her father pull her into a hug, her mother standing resolutely off to the side waiting for him.

On her way back to her room, Gen passed the portrait of Marie Antoinette, that infamous queen who met the blade of the guillotine at just a few years younger than Camille. Marie Antoinette died because she was selfish, because she did not care about the French people. Marie Antoinette put her own wants and needs above her people's and that was why they grew to hate her, why they dragged her out into the street and chopped off her head. Gen swore at a young age never to be like her, and now that vow was coming back to bite her in the ass. If Gen didn't want to be like Marie Antoinette, she was going to have to marry a man and hope that the love of her people could carry her through.

Gen could never have her cake and eat it too.


	4. The Mile High Club

A/N: Hello lovely people! Sorry for the wait - the timing on these chapters was tricky for me to work out, so I made this one extra long to make up for it! Just a few more chapters before the guys come in (I know there is a lot of filler but setting up your own OCs takes a lot of time oh my goodness) but trust me the wait is worth it! Oh, and in case I haven't made this clear - this story is set 22 years after TBaH (Gen was born at the end of TBaH, she's turning 22 in the first chapter of this story) so that means everyone from TBaH is in their late 30s early 40s. Thanks so much for all your support and readership and genuine kindness!

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The Mile High Club

The private royal jet had many perks, one being an unlimited supply of liquor in the stewardess cabinet. However, even though she was exchanging the smothering atmosphere of her home country for a much more favorable one, Gen was not in the partying mood. It was kind of hard to be pumped when the babysitter was watching from across the plane and the babysitter's baby spent the first three hours of the twelve hour flight yapping on and on and on about the history of World War III and how Illéa came about to no one in particular.

It was Gen's idea to spend the holidays with her extended family in Illéa. At the last family celebration, her parents successfully dropped a bomb on her and her perfect world, so some time and distance was exactly what Gen needed to cool down. Besides, it had been months since she had seen her Tante Finnley and Oncle Kaden and even longer since she had stepped foot onto Illéan soil.

Heather sat in the plush leather seat across from Gen, gently sipping on a cup of steaming tea while Neelam flipped eagerly through Illéan journals in one hand while scrolling through her phone with the other. Her multitasking skills were off the chart, making Gen wonder how she never exhausted that seemingly endless pool of energy. However, from what Gen had heard about Heather, that energy ran in the family - they just seemed to channel it in drastically different ways. Like right now, Heather was getting up and out of her seat to walk across the plane to Gen, ready to channel her energy into what Gen was preparing for to be another stimulating conversation.

"Best buckle in - the pilot says we are almost there."

Gen nodded and fastened her seatbelt, hoping that following the simple instruction would get Heather to go away. However, the older woman stayed and made herself comfortable in the seat across from Gen.

"I understand you, but why did she have to tag along?" Gen asked, nodding subtly towards Neelam whose face was currently glued to the window as she watched their descent.

"I'm not about to leave my daughter half way across the world in a foreign country," Heather replied bluntly but firmly. So there was no chance of Neelam taking the return flight back to Paris...got it.

"Right..." Gen trailed off, not believing for a second that Neelam Subramani simply tagged along when she was one of the most headstrong teenagers she had ever met - and that was saying something considering with whom she lived. "I'm sensing more of the 'snuck on board' and 'won't take no for an answer' type situation."

Heather's lips curled up into a smirk, her gaze drifting towards Neelam and then back towards Gen. "Yes, well when you have children, you'll understand how persuasive they can be."

Gen shook her head and went back to her magazine. That was everyone's favorite topic of conversation these days: heirs. Y _our Highness, when are you getting married? Have you thought about children? Should we be expecting a royal baby in the future?_ At least her parents had enough tact to start with the husband problem first before tackling the baby-mania that seemed to sweep over France. The media was ruthless, always trying to catch pictures of her out, speculating about her 'scandalous love life' (which did not exist, by the way, unless you considered her extreme attachment to her Netflix account a full-time love affair). One time a tabloid tried to pawn off one really baggy sweatshirt as a baby bump; needless to say everyone was disappointed when bikini season came around.

Still, that brought on another unwanted angle to this Selection: children. It was one thing to get married and go along with being attached to a man for the rest of her life. She could easily distance herself from her unwanted spouse - put her room in the opposite end of the palace, book her schedule to the brim, or be a genuinely horrible asshole to the guy so that he would willingly spend as much time as he could away from her. But pregnancy? Sex? Those were two things that had never even factored into the equation, and two things that made her ill just to think of.

There was no going back though, and the more she overthought things the more miserable Gen would make herself. The least she could do to make it bearable was to make herself ignorant of the consequences.

"So I've decided to go ahead with the Selection," Gen blurted out, drawing Heather's attention immediately, though they were still far enough away that Neelam had not heard which was preferred as this was meant to be a private conversation.

"You decided?" Heather asked skeptically, knowing that Gen was stretching things in thinking she had a real decision in anything at this point.

"Don't push me," Gen said, already short tempered. "If I pretend that this is something I want to do then maybe I'll be more willing to give it a shot."

"Fair enough," Heather conceded, reclining back in her chair and crossing one leg elegantly over the other and folding her hands primly on top of her knees. From this view, she looked as if she were conducting a business meeting. "Continue."

"As I was saying, I have decided to go ahead with the Selection, but I have conditions."

"What kind of conditions?"

"I've made a list."

Heather's eyes narrowed critically as Gen pulled out the hastily written set of requests that she had made earlier on the flight. It wasn't a long list, just a few bullet points of the things she cared for the most - the things she refused to budge on and that Heather and her parents would listen to if they wanted her to go along quietly.

"I want to be able to pick who I go out with and when," Gen started, her finger following her thoughts on the page. "This is non-negotiable. No one - not my mother nor my father nor you - are going to tell me how fast to take this or who to take it with."

Heather took a deep breath in and out before replying with a clipped, "Next?"

"I want full control of the venue of any and all dates."

"Be more specific."

"I will not be subjected to a string of painfully awkward dinners, and none of this 'walk in the gardens' bullshit," Gen waved a hand, referring to the stories her Oncle Kaden used to tell from his Selection. Boooorrrinnngggg. "I want to be able to go out on the town, into the city and have fun with these guys."

"There will be security concerns," Heather pointed out, but Gen had already thought ahead.

"I will accept up to four armed guards - or two for each person on the date - to accompany us and they will have to keep a minimum fifty foot distance from us at all times."

"Thirty feet," Heather adjusted, her game face up and ready to duke this out if necessary. "Your life is not a game, Your Highness. And while you have the love of your people, there are always those out there who mean to do you harm."

"Forty feet," Gen compromised begrudgingly. "No less, or no Selection."

"Deal," Heather agreed, though Gen could tell she was not completely pleased. "Anything else?"

"Beau."

"What about him?"

"I want him to be a part of this."

"I really must protest - " Heather started, but Gen held up a hand, wanting to say her peace.

"No, I know you don't like him, but he's my best friend. I need someone in my corner, and since I don't trust you yet, the only person I can rely on is him."

Miraculously, Heather quieted and did not have a come back. Eventually, she wordlessly nodded her consent, copying down the requests on her own pad of paper. Perhaps Gen really had gotten through to her. That, or she had struck some sort of nerve that Heather was sensitive to. Either way, Gen felt victorious. For the first time since starting on this journey, she was actually getting what she wanted.

"Now that we have that settled, it's time for you to focus on the actual picking," Heather said, ruining Gen's budding good mood.

"Ugh...and when is that?" she grumbled.

"Forms have been flooding in since the announcement at your birthday ball. Submissions will close at the end of the week and you will pick soon after."

"Can't you pick for me?" Gen asked, the thought of going through so many profiles overwhelming. "Isn't that your job - to make this Selection easier?"

"I doubt you want a strange, forty year old woman picking out your future husband," Heather pointed out, causing another groan to escape Gen's lips.

"When does this dog and pony show actually start?" Gen asked, wondering how much time she had left before her life was over.

"Not long after we return to Paris," Heather replied, pulling out a planner covered in tiny notes in a variety of different colors. It made Gen dizzy just to look at. How could someone possibly be so busy? More importantly, how could someone possibly read that? "Your parents and I thought it best not to interrupt these young men's holidays and let them enjoy time with their families. You will return home from Illéa on the Sunday following New Years and are scheduled to meet the Selected face to face Monday morning. They'll have already moved into Versailles over the weekend so you won't be bothered."

"Joyous..." Gen groaned, slouching back in her chair as she mentally counted down the minutes. "I have three more weeks before my life as I know it is finished."

"Don't be so dramatic Your Highness," Heather sighed, taking a sip of her tea, completely unbothered. "Who knows, you might actually have some fun."

"I seriously doubt that," Gen replied dryly. If only this woman knew...then she wouldn't be walking around acting like she knew everything. "And stop calling me 'Your Highness'. If you're dead-set on being my babysitter for the next few months, might as well get used to calling me Gen. It's not like I'm going to call you Madame Bloomsdale either."

"Alright then, Gen," Heather agreed, her name sounding strange yet exotic coming from Heather's unique Indian-Illéan accent.

A silence passed between them, one that was more awkward than Gen cared to admit. She stared at the older woman, trying to get a good read on her. Heather Bloomsdale didn't appear to be much on the outside: bobbed dark hair, short in stature, thin, with tan skin and the most startling blue eyes Gen had ever seen on anyone. This woman wore a mask though, one of professionalism that remained unaffected at all times, completely partisan. Gen wondered if that was the politician in her; Oncle Kaden had said she'd been running governments since the time she could walk. Heather Bloomsdale was a mystery that Gen looked forward to figuring out, and she wondered if that confident, aloof allure was what drew her oncle to Heather in the first place.

"It's so weird to think that you could've been my tante," Gen said offhandedly, unable to filter the thoughts running through her mind in time to catch that one.

"It's weird for me too," Heather replied amicably, actually smiling. Never with her teeth, Gen noted.

"Do you ever look back wonder what would have happened if you had married my oncle?"

Again, more thoughts Gen could not stop from blurting out. Sometimes she really could kill her brain for being so damn excitable and curious. Maybe she and Neelam should become best friends so that they could spazz out about things together. Thankfully Heather had yet to skin Gen alive, so she figured her questions were okay...for now.

"Sometimes," Heather said as she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. This must have been a question she had been asked a hundred times before, though for some reason, it still seemed hard for her to come up with an answer. "Most times it's to remind myself of how far I've come. The Selection was during one of the lowest points of my life - a time I would rather not revisit."

"Oh right, the crazy father..." Gen remembered, now feeling like a douche for bringing it up.

"Yes..." Heather trailed off, frowning into her cup of tea. She took a sip, though her focus was no longer on Gen; it was somewhere off in the distance - like the wall had fascinating things to show her.

"So you wouldn't change anything?" Gen surmised, bringing Heather back to reality.

"No, I don't think I would," Heather said with finality. "I am working my dream job in my home country with a wonderful daughter that stemmed from a once-wonderful marriage. My life is nearly perfect."

"But you could have been queen."

"I never wanted to be queen, and your uncle would be the first person to tell you that."

"You're crazy then."

"Some people have the drive, some people do not," Heather replied simply, as if people could be boxed so neatly into two separate categories. "Personally, I prefer my private life to stay private. There's no such thing as privacy in a monarchy, or even in the nobility. I suppose that's part of why Siddhartha and I decided to go separate ways."

"Siddhartha...that's your ex-husband?"

"Yes, I believe I just made that clear," Heather said shortly, abruptly getting up from her seat, a sure sign she was at her limit. Gen was surprised she lasted that long. Still, Heather seemed irked, like Gen had struck a wrong cord. "Are you finished asking personal questions?"

" _Ouais._ "

"Good," she replied, looking out the window. And as if she had timed it, the landing gear came out from under the wings, jostling everyone lightly and signaling that they were about to touch down. "We're here."

* * *

 _Illéans sure know how to welcome a girl_ , Gen thought as she stepped down the stairs of the jet onto a red carpet.

There were paparazzi to meet her as they were everywhere, but there were also random people there as well, whether they be fans of the royal family or fans of her unknown. Her Oncle Kaden, the King of Illéa, stood at the end of the tarmac with open arms. He was a little grayer than Gen remembered, a few more wrinkles around the eyes, but he was still young for a monarch. He was wearing a three piece suit and a wide smile, and Gen had the urge to forego all propriety and run the rest of the way to him. She didn't do it though; she maintained her composed image until she got there the slow way, but the hug she was rewarded with was well worth the wait.

 _"Où est Tante Finnley?"_

 _"Elle est au palais,"_ he replied, breaking the hug. "She's waiting for you there with the kids. I just thought you would like a warm welcome."

"I do, I love it," Gen said, taking a long breath to get the toxic Parisian air out of her system. Angeles always smelled like the ocean, and she felt like a new woman already. Gen sidled up to her uncle and took his arm, burrowing close to his side both because she was clingy and wanted affection, and to protect herself from the cold. "You're my new favorite person."

"Trouble with your parents?" Kaden surmised, glancing down curiously at his niece. When all Gen gave him was a frustrated scowl, he presumed he had all the answer he needed. "I figured. They told me about their plan a few weeks ago. I told Ahren - coming from someone who had a Selection sprung on them suddenly and without warning - that you wouldn't react well and to be more subtle about the whole thing, but I think Camille was already running with it by the time they asked my opinion."

"Running would be an understatement," Gen muttered under her breath, but her oncle still managed to hear her and laugh.

"They're just as unsure about this as you are," Kaden assured. "Ahren got the chance to have his fairytale romance and I know he wanted the same for all of you, but sometimes unexpected or terrible things happen and -"

" - and the world expects royals to rise above and do what needs to be done, yeah yeah yeah Maman already gave me that talk," Gen grumbled, hating the fact that her oncle was actually trying to defend her parents. This was not what she flew half way across the world for. "Speaking of running, I believe you already know my mentor..."

Gen was going to facilitate introductions, but it was clear that she had already become the third wheel. Heather quickly side-stepped Gen without missing a beat, as if she didn't even exist, to approach the King of Illéa. If anyone else had been so informal, they would have gotten tackled by the security guards Gen spied along the perimeter of the tarmac. However, Heather got a free pass, allowing her to be as close to the royal as she liked.

"It's been too long," Heather said as he pulled her into a hug which she politely reciprocated. The way Gen's oncle was looking at Heather, with the widest smile she had seen him wear in a long time, Gen almost felt like she needed to look away to give them their moment.

"If you lived closer, it wouldn't have to be that way," Kaden replied lightly.

"Even if I lived next door we both know we'd be too busy to do much anyway," Heather countered.

"All the more grateful I'm glad you're not working."

"This is work. Can't work be fun?" Heather asked with something playful in her tone that made Gen be a bit more curious about her relationship with her oncle.

"Only to you."

This entire exchange was strange. It was as if Gen were watching some sort of rom-com movie. Her Oncle Kaden never talked to her Tante Finnley like this. He never talked to anyone like this except maybe Queen Allegra, but they had been friends since childhood. What made Heather Bloomsdale so special?

"Neelam, be polite and introduce yourself," Heather instructed as her daughter finally caught up to them. She had probably been busy practicing her French on the stewardesses or something and lost track of the time. However, after she had executed one of the most graceful curtseys Gen had ever seen, she replied in flawless English.

"Thank you letting us stay with you, Your Majesty."

"Of course. You and your mother are like family," Kaden replied, though he still appeared astonished at Neelam. "I just can't believe it; last time I saw you, you barely came up to my waist!"

"I know..." Neelam sighed. "Not much has changed. I blame mom and dad for being so short. I always get mistaken for a child."

"Your life is so difficult," Heather said sarcastically, rolling her eyes at her daughter gently. For all the hard-assery she gave other people, it was impossible for her to get mad at Neelam, Gen noticed.

" _Allons-y,_ " Oncle Kaden said, gesturing for everyone to follow him to the black limousine waiting a few feet away. "Finn has dinner waiting for us when we get back."

"How is Finnley?" Heather asked as they started walking. He went to reply but Gen never got to hear the answer, falling behind the adults.

Frustrated but intrigued, Gen sidled up to Neelam as Heather and her oncle moved ahead, leading the way to the awaiting black limousine.

"Hey, what's with your mom and my oncle?" Gen leaned down to ask so that she couldn't be overheard.

"What about them?" Neelam replied, startled to be so near to Gen without warning.

"They seem a little...close..." Gen trailed off, not knowing how to phrase things without sounding conspiratorial or judgmental.

"They've been friends for ages, longer than both of us have been alive," Neelam replied, clearly unconcerned.

"Yeah but it doesn't seem...I don't know...strange to you?" Gen continued. She was sure she wasn't seeing things, certain that this behavior wasn't made up by some hyperactive imagination or dramatic mindset. She was definitely watching her oncle cozy up to an attractive, powerful woman who was not her tante. "It almost sounds like they're flirting."

"You Frenchies are so dramatic! And I thought Indian people were bad..." Neelam chuckled under her breath. "Nothing is going on between them, trust me."

"Are you sure you're not just saying that because you want her to get back with your dad?"

Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. Judging by the way Neelam's face screwed up like she had just smelt something bad, or the way her cheeks flushed, Gen would say she had definitely made a poor move and that she and Neelam were not on the fast track to being best friends. Maybe Gen did go a little too far with a subject that was still too raw to mess with. After all, it was a low ball, bringing up the divorce. Not everyone was lucky enough to get what Gen had. What girl wouldn't want their parents to live happily ever after together?

"Of course I want that, but no," Neelam replied hastily, aggressively. "If you really knew what happened back then..."

"If I really knew what? What happened?" Gen asked, dying to know. God, she felt like such a gossip ho...was this what it was like to be Beau?

"It's not my place to say," Neelam replied diplomatically, growing uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "If you really want to know, ask my mother. But I doubt she'll tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because she doesn't like you very much yet."

"Great, just what I need. An enemy," Gen pouted, and as ticked off as Neelam was with her, she still laughed.

"Relax, I said _yet_. She'll warm up to you...hopefully..."

Their conversation ended as they reached the limo, both girls pulling open separate door so that they sat on opposites sides of each other - Neelam next to her mother and Gen next to her Oncle Kaden. The drive was a short one, at least it felt that way in comparison to the flight. When they approached the gates, Gen could see the palace lit up like a beacon in the night, lighting their way up to the front steps. Gen was the first one out of the car, not waiting for anyone else before entering the palace.

Tante Finnley and company were waiting for everyone at the mouth of the foyer, the grand double doors opening to welcome everyone into their spacious home. Elodie, the eldest Schreave sibling and heir to the Illéan throne, was standing at her mother's right looking as royal as anyone could possibly be. Tante Finnley was always a vision of grace and beauty, clad in a simple shift dress with her blonde hair pulled back into a bun to showcase the eyes that once caused her great insecurity, but Elodie was something else. She was stunning with long dark hair that naturally curled and equally dark but kind eyes that stood out against her pale skin and a dainty tiara placed on the center of her head as she stood there in a blue satin dress quietly smiling with genuine happiness.

All of the Schreave children looked like their father actually - the dark hair dark eye genes winning out over her tante's blonde and blue. Except for Kase, the second oldest, only boy, and the only one to inherit his mother's heterochromia iridis. The twins, Hayden and Auden, or "night and day" as many were inclined to call them due to their extremely different personalities, were also waiting in the hall along with Cordelia, the second youngest. Five out of six was a good turn out. Five out of six was a big enough welcome, just the right family size she was used to.

"So good to see you Gen," Tante Finnley said as she pulled Gen into a tight hug. "We were so excited to get your call. I hope you find what you're looking for, and if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

" _Merci_ ," Gen thanked her tante, more grateful than ever for this blessing of a woman. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd been stuck in Paris much longer."

"Well, our home is always open," her tante replied, turning to include the children. "I know that everyone has been looking forward to your visit."

"The maids made up the room next to mine," Elodie said, brimming with enthusiasm. "It'll be just like having another sister!"

Damn if her smile didn't illuminate the room. Elodie was so perfect it was infuriating...she was like the rare unicorn that made everyone else seem inadequate. Not that she did it intentionally, she was just so pure, so kind, so _everything_ and she was only sixteen years old! Like what the fuck! At sixteen, Gen had just discovered alcohol and was mapping the routes to get in and out of Versailles without her bodyguards noticing.

"Don't you already have enough sisters?" Gen teased, looking at the lineup of children off to the side.

"They're all younger than me. It's so cool to have someone older around," Elodie clarified.

"Well, hopefully I don't disappoint," Gen said, and though she was being lighthearted, there was a genuine irrational fear attached to that statement. She never really had to play the 'older sister' role to her own sisters because Delphine had outgrown her by the time she learned to speak, and Evangeline was so introverted she barely spoke two words to their parents nonetheless everyone else. To be looked up to like that was both humbling and flattering. Gen was actually looking forward to the next few weeks.

"Are we going to have a sleepover?" Hayden piped up, dark eyes wide and puppy-dog like as they usually were when she wanted her way.

"We will one night I promise."

"Will you tell us a story?" Auden asked next, her voice much more subdued and gentle compared to her twin's.

"Are you sure you aren't too old for bedtime stories?" Gen asked the ten year olds.

"No!" They both insisted strongly, though Auden was actually more vocal this time, continuing with, "I love stories and you tell the best ones."

"Then a story you shall have," Gen conceded, turning to the last girl. "Care to join us Delia?"

"Yeah!" she agreed vehemently, nodding her head so fast that her dark brown curls covered her face.

"It'll be a party," Gen decreed, causing the small girls to break out into excitement.

"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into," Tante Finnley warned, a smile playing on her lips.

"Gotten into what?" Oncle Kaden's voice came from the end of the hall. He had finally caught up, and so had Heather and Neelam though they stayed a few paces behind this time. Oncle Kaden bounded up to where his family stood until he reached his wife, scooping her up and planting a kiss on her cheek. It was a sweet moment that Gen 'awwwed' quietly to herself while her cousins made 'ewww' and giggly noises. When the romantic gesture came to an end, his arm still lingered around her waist even as he addressed Gen.

 _There goes the flirting theory,_ Gen thought.

"So this is where you went," her oncle said, looking at her expectantly. It took a moment for Gen to remember that she had actually ditched everyone in the limo and not told them where she was going, which was kind of a no-no now that she thought about it.

"Sorry, I couldn't wait to see everyone," Gen apologized lamely, knowing it was a weak excuse.

Luckily, her oncle didn't press the situation. He simply looked back down at Tante Finnley and said, "Gen brought friends with her."

"Oh?" her tante replied, her eyebrows raised skeptically until she noticed the two women still standing further down the hall. Tante Finnley's expression brightened as she saw them, beckoning them in closer so she could welcome them properly. "Heather, it's good to see you. And Neelam, you look so lovely."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Neelam replied, taking the time to curtsey once again.

"Why don't we all get moving before the food gets cold," Tante Finnley suggested, herding everyone towards the dining hall. She and Gen were the last ones out, making sure no one was left behind. A few feet from the door, she said, "We've set up a special dinner - all of your favorites."

"Does that mean...?" Gen trailed off, and sure enough, as she pushed open the doors to the dining hall her sense were flooded with grease and pure deliciousness.

"Ah Mon Dieu, I'm in heaven," Gen sighed as she breathed in the aroma of double pepperoni extra cheese deep dish pizza from her favorite place in Angeles. Further down the table were breadsticks and what looked like a tray of assorted chocolate treats for dessert. Gen's stomach growled at the sight. "My dietician is going to kill me but it will be soooooo worth it."

"Eh, what they don't know can't hurt 'em. Live a little," Kase shrugged, his voice cracking at the end. Puberty was a bitch and he was facing the full brunt of it, almost six feet tall and lanky but skinny as a bean pole because his body just couldn't keep up with the growth spurt. Still, he had handsome features; she knew when he got out of this awkward phase that all the girls would be lining up to take a bite out of him. It was good to know that his sense of humor and wit hadn't changed. Gen loved those most about him, and would have been sad to see Kase be like the moody little asshole Beau was when he was fourteen.

"See Kasey, this is why you're my favorite," Gen said, picking up a slice and watching the strands of gooey cheese stretch on for miles. "You're such an enabler."

"Glad to be of service," he replied cheekily, stacking three slices onto his own plate.

"I thought I was your favorite?" Oncle Kaden asked, feigning being hurt.

"I guess you'll have to fight for it," Gen sighed, looking between the two as if she could not make up her mind.

"Sorry bud, better lucky next time," Oncle Kaden said apologetically to his son and everyone broke out into laughter.

"Gen Gen Gen Gen Gen Gen GEN!" came a high pitched voice at the end of the dining hall.

"Peanut," Gen said, forgoing her plate and scooping the small child up into her arms easily. Gabrielle was so tiny for her age that everyone tended to call her 'peanut', the moniker overtaking her given name most of the time. Her nanny was close behind, though not fast enough to catch the runaway princess, but gave up running once she saw Gabbi was in good hands. "I haven't seen you in forever! You're so grown up!"

"I'm this many now!" she announced, stretching out five little fingers.

" _Tu as cinq ans?_ Oh my goodness!" Gen exclaimed. "First Louis, now you. I feel so old."

"Tell me about it," her tante agreed.

"What did you ask Santa to bring you?"

"A pony!" the excitable girl replied, practically bouncing up and down in Gen's arms.

"A pony?" Gen asked exaggeratedly, like she couldn't believe her ears. She was loving how animated her cousin was. If only she herself could be this young and naive.

"What did you ask for for Christmas Gen?"

 _For the love of my life to return my feelings so we can live happily ever after and run off into the sunset and leave this horrible Selection far far behind.._.

"Mommy says you wished for a boyfriend!" Gabbi answered for her when an answer did not come fast enough.

Gen nearly choked.

"I certainly did not," she replied once she was able to breathe again.

"Yes you did! Mommy says you're going to have a hundred of them!" the little girl insisted, looking quite certain of herself.

"Well she must have heard wrong," Gen refuted. "I asked for a hundred dresses made out of rainbows and pegasus feathers."

The quickest way to get Gabbi to drop something was to distract her, and the bigger more outrageous the tale the better. Sure enough, her golden brown eyes widened dramatically, completely enraptured by the idea of magical dresses before she broke out into a fit of giggles.

"Haha! That's silly!"

"You're silly!" Gen said, tickling her cousin's tummy so that the little girl shrieked with laughter. This went on a few moments longer before Gen realized that they were being watched. Turning around, Gen found her tante looking on at the scene with fondness, a smile curving up her delicate lips.

"You're going to make a great mother one day."

"Uhhh thanks Tante Finnley..." Gen laughed nervously, trying to smile through the awkwardness as she handed Gabrielle off to the nanny who escorted her back out of the dining hall and to bed after many kisses and hugs.

Gen took her plate of pizza and found an unoccupied seat at the table, which wasn't hard to do seeing as though the dining hall could seat forty people. Everyone seemed to have an unassigned-assigned seat, but Gen took the open one next to Kase and across from the twins. There was a stretch of silence as everyone gorged themselves on junk food, or at least while Gen gorged herself until her stomach was uncomfortably full. Yep, both her dietician and her arteries were going to kill her, but at least she could die happy.

"So Gen, anything specific you want to do while you're here in Angeles?" Oncle Kaden asked, drawing her attention.

"I haven't really thought about it to be honest," Gen admitted. She had been so busy trying to get away that she didn't know what she was running towards. Now that she was in Illéa, she realized that she really didn't have a plan other than avoid the hell out of her parents and anyone with a Parisian phone number.

"We'll have to think of something then," Oncle Kaden mused, probably making a to-do list in his head.

"We should go to the beach!" Hayden interjected.

"It's too cold for the beach sweetie," Tante Finnley said gently, trying to avoid tears from a disappointed child.

"I'm fine with staying in. You guys don't have to do anything special just for me," Gen insisted, not wanting to cause a fuss. She'd already imposed on them enough; the last thing she wanted was for them to bend over backwards to entertain her. She was a grown adult capable of finding things to do on her own time that didn't inconvenience her family. Besides, all she really wanted to do was curl up and never get out of bed. At least she could do that here without being judged or having the covers ripped off violently by her asshole of a brother.

"But you _are_ going to go to the New Years Ball right?" Elodie asked Gen earnestly. It was Elodie's first year as eligible to attend formal state events, and it was evident to Gen that she was eager to have someone there she could rely on. Gen wasn't sold on celebrating anything this year, but she could make an exception for family.

"Of course," Gen said, enjoying the way Elodie's face lit up. "I didn't pack a dress or anything, but I'm sure we can go shopping."

"Speaking of the ball, the royal family of Saudi accepted their invitation earlier today," Oncle Kaden said with a smile. "That will cheer you up right?"

"Right," Gen smiled feebly.

This was good news, great news actually. She would get the chance to see Samara for sure. But the timing was horrible, and it would be torturous to see her so soon to when thirty-five strangers would be moving into Gen's home to fight for her heart. Why did fate have to hurt her this way, to throw the one thing she wanted in her face when she knew she could never have it? Of course, there were a million reasons why Gen could never have what she wanted, but the Selection was the easiest to blame. It was the source of all things evil, the source of all the negativity in her previously-perfect existence.

But if Gen only had one night to make things count, she wasn't going to let that slip away. If New Years was the last time she could be herself, she was going to make the most of it, future pain be damned.

Fuck it. If Gen was going out, she would go out with a bang.


	5. A New Year's Diss

A/N: I think things got funky with the last chapter - I had posted it and then deleted the Rules and Regulations chapter so I think that pushed the order around. This is the actual chapter 5 though, so if you didn't catch the last chapter you should probably go back and read it before this one so things make more sense. Sorry if it confused anyone!

Also, I don't know if I made it clear before, but the SYOC is officially closed. Thanks to everyone who submitted! It was a tough call and I got some really amazing submissions! I feel like I gave everyone more than enough time and have been more than patient in working with people to get in their forms, but I don't want to keep hounding everyone because that's not my job. The time has come to start the Selection and I simply cannot wait any longer. I will be posting the complete list of Selected on my profile page soon, and will keep up with their statuses in the Selection as I did for TBaH. It is my sincerest hope that even if your guy was not picked for the Selection that you will continue to enjoy this story :)

I hope you wonderful beautiful people like this chapter! Next one has the first Selected in it!

* * *

A New Year's Diss

New Years in Illéa was a Big Deal™.

New Years was bigger than every other holiday combined. Tante Finnley used to say it was a day to celebrate multiple victories. Her father used to say it was the day her oncle finally gained some balls. As Gen got older, she realized that it was really commemorating Oncle Kaden avoiding war with New Asia, taking a down a rising anarchist regime, totally rebooting the government, and proposing to the love of his life. Definitely something worth remembering, but Gen always thought that it was cute they still celebrated all these years later.

That being said, the only way to celebrate a Big Deal™ was to throw an equally as big ball.

Sure, there were Christmas festivities. A small, intimate family gathering where Oncle Osten showed up with his girlfriend of the hour and a sack full of presents (like the children hadn't already been spoiled earlier that morning - Gen included) and they all hung out in the dining room and ate dinner in their pajamas. The girls unwrapped dress after dress after dress - with the exception of Auden who received an the entire works of her favorite poets. Kase got the latest tablet (which Gen was ashamed to say she thought of stealing because _goddamn_ it was _cool_ ) and Gabrielle did in fact receive a pony and had spent the whole day taking Caramel for a ride around the gardens while Tante Finnley guided the reins so she couldn't stray too far. It wasn't unlike Christmas at her own house, but Gen almost felt nostalgic for the snow-covered gardens of Versailles as she lounged out on the back patio and watched sun set on that balmy Angeles evening.

But that was tame compared to what was planned for New Years.

Gen could think of no better way to end her stay in Illéa than a ball. She had spent all day getting ready. She had gotten mani/pedis with Elodie, had her hair done up in an elaborate twist that took nearly two hours to perfect, and had a custom Freya Jackson evening gown made just for the event. Gen looked stunning if she did say so herself, the modest neckline and full sleeves of the dark green gown flattering her figure and making her eyes pop. Sorry cousins, she would be the belle of the ball tonight. All eyes were sure to be on her, and everything would be perfect.

Everything _had_ to be perfect.

Because Samara was going to be there, and that was enough to send Gen into a panic.

As she stood in the mirror, examining her appearance for the hundredth time, Gen wished she had brought Elyan with her. Her loyal maid would know exactly what to say. Instead, all Gen had was Heather who had gone MIA with Neelam after expressing that as Hindus they did not celebrate Christmas and would be spending the day elsewhere. Where, she had failed to clarify and had yet to return from, so Gen really was alone to deal with this dilemma by herself. And like everything else that Gen was forced to handle, she just ended up shoving it into a deep dark corner of her mind and ignoring it.

 _Imperfection is an irrational fear,_ Gen told herself as she smoothed down the velvet. _My people love me, everyone loves me, Samara will love me...I'll be fine..._

 _...right?_

* * *

Did anyone have any idea how hard it was for Gen to deny champagne?

It was as if part of died every time she waved away a butler carrying a tray of the delicious golden bubbliness. But Samara was somewhere in this insanely crowded space and she was not a fan of alcohol, and not just for religious reasons because King Abbas - a practicing Muslim himself - could drink anyone under the table (not that Gen knew from personal experience because getting the Saudi King drunk would be _terribly_ and _horribly_ inappropriate and she would _never_ _dare_ do anything so reckless). Gen didn't want to upset her friend, not when she had tried so hard already to make a stellar impression.

So, abstinence was tonight's key word no matter how much it sucked, which was a tragedy considering how insane this party was. The entire ballroom was decorated in gold and silver accents, streamers and banners lining the ceiling while the food was piled high and liquor flowed freely. People were growing loud and boisterous, which meant that shenanigans were sure to follow. According to Tante Finnley and the entirety of social media, last holiday season Prime Minister Brice had too much sherry and took her shoes off and danced in the fountain despite the cooler weather, and Gen was betting that this year would bring something even better.

At the moment, Gen was having trouble finding people she knew. She had passed her Oncle Kaden greeting guests at the door and he told her Tante Finnley was near the dessert tables, but she couldn't even find those the room was so dense. Thankfully a change of luck had a tipsy councilwoman bumping Gen in the direction of the dance floor where Elodie was stationed a few feet away gently swaying to the sound of the small orchestra playing in the corner. Gen wove her way through politicians and royalty alike to get to her cousin who was overjoyed to see a friendly face.

"Elodie, you look gorgeous!" Gen exclaimed, completely blown away by her cousin's transformation. Not that Elodie wasn't naturally pretty, but her strapless golden gown made her look so mature and accentuated her darker features.

"Thank you," Elodie said bashfully, looking Gen up and down before replying, "So do you!"

"This party is ridiculous," Gen commented as she took in the seas of people crowded into the ballroom. It was a ball bigger than any she had ever seen at Versailles, and given the size of their ballroom and the proclivity of the French people to appreciate a good party, that was saying something.

"It's crazy!" Elodie agreed, completely overwhelmed. "I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to do."

"Have fun, duh!" Gen exclaimed as if that were obvious. "It's the king's job to shake hands and the princess' job to smile, wave, and _enjoy_."

"You sound like you've done this a lot."

"This is not my first rodeo."

"Well, it is mine..." Elodie admitted nervously, wringing her gloved hands together.

"Relax! You've got this _and_ you've got _me_. You'll be fine," Gen assured, draping one arm over Elodie's shoulder and pulling her in close.

Elodie didn't say anything else, so Gen's mind was free to wander. She looked out on the dance floor, trying to recognize faces in the dancing couples but they were moving too quickly to tell. Her head tilted upwards to cover more ground, hopeful that Gen would see a brightly colored hijab somewhere in the crowd. Just the thought of spotting Samara in the crowd was enough to get Gen's heart racing and her nerves going.

"Are you looking for anyone?" Elodie asked, looking up at Gen curiously.

"Just...someone..." Gen dismissed reluctantly, bringing her gaze back down to her cousin. "I'll catch up with them later."

Elodie nodded and the silence returned. The girl really was nervous, Gen noted as she watched her cousin fidget with her necklace and her gloves. She must have reached up to pat her hair half a dozen times in the last five minutes. Was Gen this nervous at her first soiree? No, too drunk most likely. This was something new to Gen, something she wanted to fix to get Elodie to really enjoy the party scene. The girl deserved some fun after all the pressure she was put through to be the next queen. Gen surveyed the area, trying to pick out a worthy distraction, when she found just the thing.

"That boy is staring at you..." Gen said as she directed Elodie's attention to a young guy about her cousin's age not-so-subtly checking her out. He had light blonde hair and dark eyes, which Gen supposed made him cute enough for a teenage boy - not that her opinion was worth shit when it came to guys anyway. Elodie certainly thought he was cute though, her eyes shifting over him whenever she thought he wasn't looking.

"Is he? I-I didn't notice," Elodie stammered, her cheeks flushing a bright pink. Now that he knew he had been spotted, the guy looked away quickly but couldn't help but return his gaze a minute later. Honestly, the behavior was so tame and innocent that it was precious.

"Girl he's so into you! Go flirt with him! Ask him to dance," Gen encouraged, feeling like her old sixteen-year-old self.

"No, I can't..." Elodie trailed off, looking down at her feet. "I don't even know him...what would I say?"

"You're the Crown Princess of Illéa. That boy should count himself lucky to stand in your presence," Gen replied with confidence, hoping to instill some in Elodie

"I really shouldn't..."

She looked so conflicted that Gen was honestly confused. Had the dating scene changed over in Illéa since the last time she'd been there, or was she missing something?

"Why not? What's stopping you?"

"Like you said, I'm the Crown Princess of Illéa. I'll have to have a Selection in a few years. Leading him on would just be cruel," Elodie explained, and Gen felt her heart sink for her cousin. The fact that she, herself, was going through this torture was bad enough, but for Elodie to dictate the rest of her life around some stupid tradition was fifty shades of wrong.

"You shouldn't just give up because of something that may or may not happen years down the road. That's just stupid."

This was making Gen irrationally upset. She knew she should just let it go, that she should let things be, but her mind was fixated on the fact that her cousin could be happy right now but was choosing to be sad just because of some stupid Selection that was currently ruining her own life. And Elodie was so serious about it! Like she had given up on everything else, resigned to the fact that her only shot at love would be manufactured for the entertainment of her country. Why didn't anyone except her think that this was fucked up?

"I know you're only trying help Gen, but really, it's okay," Elodie assured, pushing Gen away towards the crowd. "You should go find your someone. I'll be fine, I promise."

Gen would have argued, but Elodie looked like she wanted to be alone now, and honestly if she stayed there any longer Gen wouldn't have the restraint to keep herself from pulling that boy and Elodie out onto the dance floor, Selection be damned. Gen nodded and left her cousin, venturing out into the dark and dangerous currents of the ball. Gen was sure there were those she knew somewhere among this sea of faces. She had read the guest list earlier, so she knew that Queen Nicoletta, Empress Eunmi, the Legers, and the Woodworks were bound to be milling around. It would be nice to catch up and say hello if she got the time, but they weren't her main priority.

No, Gen's focus was now solely on a table near the back of the ballroom - the only table filled with individuals wearing telltale modest Middle Eastern fashion. As Gen approached the table, she pulled up the neckline of her own dress; not that they would judge her, but even in long sleeves she felt somewhat bare compared to the full headscarves and long gowns. Samara sat at the head of the table, her father nowhere to be found as she entertained the rest of her party. They were a cluster of brightly colored robes and extravagant jewels. Samara took Gen's breath away, clad in layers of gold and blue and a headpiece that made her sparkle in the light, catching everyone's attention. When she looked up, her eyes widened with shock.

"Geneviève! What a pleasant surprise," Samara said, her voice naturally loud and dramatic. She stood up to give Gen a hug, the shorter girl only coming up to Gen's breastbone. "I wasn't expecting you to be here!"

Samara sounded so surprised, but there was a questioning look in those dark, gorgeous eyes that made the statement more of an inquisition.

"It was sort of a last minute trip," Gen explained once she found the words.

"Well I'm so glad you made it," Samara smiled, waving for her ladies to move over so that they could make room for Gen. "Catch me up on your life. I feel like I haven't seen you in _ages_."

"My life isn't that exciting," Gen joked, shrugging her shoulders. "I've been shadowing Maman, doing work...My birthday was a few weeks ago..."

Gen was reluctant to even bring the subject up in fear of offending or angering the Saudi Princess, but her curiosity outweighed everything else. Gen wanted to know what was going on. Thankfully, Samara seemed to be fine. In fact, she seemed regretful, her face screwing up into something similar to a frown.

"Oh it was, wasn't it?" Samara remembered, placing a hand over her chest as she cried, "I'm so sorry! Totally slipped my mind - I'm such a scatter-brain! I hope you weren't too upset."

"Not really," Gen lied, when in reality she was hurt. That was the best excuse Samara could come up with? She was so busy doing nothing that she couldn't even find the time to go to her friend's birthday? Did Gen really mean so little to her, or was Gen just overreacting? She herself wasn't known for having the best tact or memory. Maybe it was just an honest mistake. Samara had been to her other parties, and she was being so kind to Gen now. Maybe it was just a simple slip of the mind, nothing intentionally malicious at all. "I mean, it would have been nice to see you, but things happen I guess."

Samara gave Gen a wide, sympathetic smile as she reached out and took her hand.

"I am forever grateful that Allah has blessed me with a friend who is so understanding," Samara said, perhaps with too much syrupy sweetness. "Anyway, continue with your story."

"Um, well there's nothing much else going on. I mean, there is this mess with the Selection but I really don't want to talk about - "

"A Selection?" Samara gasped, completely shocked and intrigued. "You are having a Selection?"

"Yeah...it's kind of awful and I - "

The ladies around the table started squealing and chattering on and on in a language Gen did not recognize, but she could catch the drift of what they were getting it. It was clear that they were far more interested and invested in this Selection than Gen was, and they had barely even heard her speak two words on it. Samara was doing her best to calm down her entourage, though Gen suspected that she was also on the fangirl bandwagon.

"You lucky girl! I am so jealous of you right now! You must tell me everything!" Samara insisted rather violently, her interest bordering on invasive.

"There's nothing to say. It hasn't even started yet."

"But soon, right?" Samara pressed.

"Yeah, in a few days actually."

"Geneviève, do you have any idea how much I would kill to be you right now?" Samara pouted, her desire genuine which blew Gen's mind. "To have your pick of so many suitors...it sounds like a dream."

"It's really not all that great..." Gen started to say, but that only made Samara grow frustrated.

"Ughhhhh! How can you not appreciate this gift you have been given?" Samara complained, looking wistfully out into the distance. "If only my father were as progressive. He still insists on _my_ suitors coming up to palace gates in a parade of fanfare to ask for my hand in marriage. Of course, they're always marvelous affairs with so much style and grace - last week the Prince of Jordan arrived on elephant-back carrying a dozen chests of gold and jewels - but father always sends them away. He says I'm worth more than a thousand chests of gold."

"That's great..." Gen said, but really she wasn't that interested. Sure, the thought of Samara being bought like a piece of meat was demeaning and made Gen's blood boil because she was worth far more than some gold and if some rich, pigheaded lord couldn't see that then he wasn't fit to lick her boots. But Samara tended to exaggerate stories for effect, and her dull, dimwitted ladies who were fawning over her every word didn't really help.

Samara continued talking, but her words didn't reach Gen. Not that she cared; when she got into this mood, there was no stopping her. Besides, she already had a captive audience who was way more into the story than Gen was. Now, all Gen had left to do was steep in her emotions that battled over whether she should keep smothering her feelings or bite the bullet and tell Samara how she felt. That would be one hell of a story, wouldn't it?

"Samara," Gen interrupted, grabbing the princess' attention though she was a little miffed at being stopped mid-story. Gen didn't care much. She was on an adrenaline-fuelled roll right now. This was far more important. "There's something that I need to tell you, something that I've been meaning to tell you for a while now but I just haven't found the courage to say it..."

"What is it?" Samara asked, an impatient edge to her voice.

 _Ah mon Dieu are you really doing this?_ Gen asked herself. _Are you really about to tell your crush that you've been pining after her for the last three years?_

"Samara...I - "

"Stop, I know what you are going to say,' Samara said abruptly, killing the words on the tip of Gen's tongue.

"You do?" Gen asked cautiously, a nauseous but hopeful feeling washing over her.

"Of course," Samara replied confidently, a look on her face as if the answer were obvious.

"Ah Dieu," Gen sighed, feeling the heavy weight on her chest fly away. "You have no idea how much of a relief it is to hear -"

"You're afraid that, with all these handsome suitors coming to win your hand, I'll become jealous or somehow think less of you. But I just want to say that, because I am such a good friend, I have decided to put my own feelings aside and support you so you have nothing to worry about."

All that hope and happiness came crashing down. Gone was the excited energy, the bravery and the courage that had flooded her system just moments beforehand. Gen literally saw her future crumble before her eyes yet again, and it took all she had not to physically deflate and curl up into a ball and cry.

"That...wasn't what I was going to say at all..." Gen managed to get out, still stricken by emotional whiplash.

"Really?" Samara asked, cocking an eyebrow skeptically. "Then what is it?"

"I wanted to tell you that I love..." Gen started, but stopped mid-way. A few minutes ago, she would have said the rest. A few minutes ago, she would be willing to take a risk. But now, embarrassed and once-defeated, she was not as strong. Her time to shine was gone, and it was never coming back. "...your dress. It looks beautiful on you."

It was a half-hearted compliment, but Samara was weak for them. Any attention was enough for her to run with.

"Ooooooh, you're so sweet! I know right?" Samara preened, swishing the fabric around her ankles. "Made from the finest silk in all of New Asia."

Gen gave a faint upward tug of her lips in response.

"You really shouldn't be so dramatic Geneviève," Samara chided with laughter lacing her tone. "You scared me! Had me thinking that something serious was going on."

"You know me...nothing serious at all..." Gen said, trying not to flinch as she spoke.

"You're so funny Gen, always making me laugh."

Conversation carried on without Gen saying a word. Samara's ladies were all conversing in their language, acting as if Gen didn't even exist. They probably didn't want her input anyway, only accepting her presence because Samara allowed it. They were probably conversing about the latest gossip to come their way; the Selection only taking a second of their ever-roving scope.

"Excuse me," Gen said, getting up from the table. The atmosphere was starting to be too much, and Gen couldn't stand the feeling of being rejected around Samara any longer. "I should go and find my oncle."

Samara merely waved Gen away as she had done to her ladies earlier, already on to the next thing that had caught her eye, Gen completely forgotten. Perhaps it was better that way.

Gen held her head high as she rejoined the crowd, pushing and pulling her way to nowhere in particular. Now, her dress felt particularly restraining, too hot like the velvet was going to suffocate her and she had the urge to rip the sleeves off her body. She instead compromised for a glass of champagne...then another...and then decided to go on the hunt for something stronger. However, on her quest for the bar, she quite literally ran into her Oncle Kaden.

"Are you alright?" he asked, reaching out to steady her so she wouldn't fall.

"Yeah fine, never better," Gen lied though she didn't even try to look cheery. How could she when she felt her heart aching in her chest? It's not like she could talk to anyone about it. That would require being honest for once in her life, and now that the Selection was slated to start as soon as she touched down on French soil in forty-eight hours, telling the truth was a hard **no**. So she did what she did best: deflected.

"I see that Heather and company have returned," she said and directed her oncle's attention across the ballroom to where Heather was taking to other Indian diplomats with whom Gen could only assume with she were friends. The woman was actually smiling and laughing along with the group while Neelam took it upon herself to make friends with Gen's cousins a few tables down. "I didn't know she was capable of having fun."

"Don't be so hard on Heather," her oncle insisted. It was clear that he had been concerned about Heather's wellbeing, and seeing her look so happy made him smile even wider than he had been before. "The divorce affected her more than she would ever tell anyone. She really needs the time to unwind and relax."

"So I'm her distraction?"

"Only you could think skeptically of an act of kindness," her oncle sighed, but there was amusement in his tone.

Gen always thought skeptically of everything. The Parisian Court had trained her to be that way. Everyone was always working towards their own goals, their own wants and needs. Her parents instilled in her at a young age the need to weed out the good seeds from the bad, to sniff out alternative reasons, to learn how to read people and what they're trying to get. No act of kindness came without strings, which was why Gen was suspicious of the way her oncle was currently looking at the Indian Vice Counselor, which was why she had continued to be suspicious about his behavior towards her this entire trip.

And then it clicked.

"You had a hand in this, didn't you?" Gen asked, her oncle's guilty expression coming as confirmation.

"When I heard about the divorce, I knew she would be devastated even if she chose not to show it. She appears to be so tough, when in reality she is so much more fragile than you would expect. I began to worry, so I wrote to Ahren expressing my concern, asking if there was any room for Heather in Paris and he made the rest happen," her oncle explained. "Please, don't tell her about this. She really seems to be enjoying her time in France and if she knew that anyone was involved she would be furious."

" _I'm_ furious," Gen emphasized, taking a step back from the one person she thought she could count on. "I thought you were on _my_ side."

"I am on your side," her oncle replied, realizing now that he had put his foot in his mouth. "I'm on both of your sides."

"How is exploiting the literal worst thing that has ever happened to me in order to cheer up your friend being on my side?"

"Things are never that black and white Gen, you should know that by now," her oncle replied, his tone growing more serious. "I get it, you're mad at the world. I was angry too when Brice sprang my Selection on me as well. But lashing out at the people who are only trying to make this task easier is not going to do you any favors."

"You aren't doing me any favors. That woman hates me, I'm sure of it."

"She just hasn't warmed up to you yet," her oncle assured. "Looking back, I don't know where I would have been without Josie, Heather, and Brice. You might be resistant to help now, but trust me, you'll come to rely on those around you more often than you rely on yourself."

Gen begrudgingly let his words sink it. It wasn't that she was resistant to help, it was that she was resistant to unwanted help. She would have been just fine with Beau by her side; it was her family that insisted on butting in and sticking their noses in things that weren't their business. But maybe she should learn to lower her guard and stop attacking everyone who wanted to lighten the load. It was just a hard pill to swallow to admit she was wrong.

"How did you do it?" Gen asked instead.

"Do what?"

"Survive the Selection?"

"Take it one day at a time," her oncle replied, a reminiscent look on his face. "I remember waking up in the morning and hoping that I could just get through the day without a crisis. Of course, I was dealing with some pretty horrible political problems as well, but those always seemed like they could be fixed. It was always the romance problems that scared me to death."

"Yeah but you found Tante Finnley."

"After many long, hard conversations and a lot of making up for lost time," he said seriously, and for the first time Gen questioned the infallible integrity of their love. She always assumed that they were perfect from the start. Apparently not. "It wasn't an easy road. Nothing worth fighting for ever is."

"Really inspiring me to keep going right now," Gen bemoaned, earning a pensive gaze from her oncle.

"What are you really scared of Gen?"

 _Being untrue to myself, leading someone on for the rest of my life, breaking not only one heart but two, burying one of the most defining points of myself under a mountain of lies that could come crumbling down at any moment..._

"I don't want to hurt anyone...I don't want to disappoint my parents...but I feel like I am," Gen admitted, feeling more raw and exposed than she liked. "What if after all this, after I give everything up, I'm still not good enough?"

"Not good enough for what?"

"To be queen."

It was a fear that had become more and more prevalent and had only escalated by the huge stakes she was taking in going along with the Selection. She was sacrificing the rest of her life in order to be a ruler, and while her people loved her now, what was stopping them from changing their minds and punishing her later down the line? Marie Antoinette was once looked on as a symbol of hope for the country as well. Gen didn't know what it was like to have so much responsibility. She did well in her role as a princess, but that was nothing compared to the jobs that Maman and Grandmère did. She was always there to shadow, to watch and learn but never intervene. _Tu n'es pas préparé_ was their constant excuse, and now that the time was upon her to take the throne, Gen was scared she would not live up to her image. And maybe that was part - albeit a small one compared to the injustice of the whole sexist system of the Selection - of why she was so resistant to change, to taking on this huge responsibility in the first place. Because pushing it off for just a little while longer gave her more time in her safe space.

"No one is ever ready to be a ruler. There is no amount training or experience that can prepare you for the responsibility of the crown. Everyone sucks at it at first - even I was lost for the first few months," her oncle started, and Gen's heart started to sink. Then he held her by the shoulders and smiled. "But if there is anyone in this whole world who is suited for the crown, it's you."

" _Merci,_ " Gen said, wrapping her oncle into a huge bear hug. " _Je t'aime,_ Oncle Kaden."

" _Je t'aime_ ," he replied, and she felt a kiss placed on the top of her head before he pulled away. "Shall we rejoin the party?"

Gen nodded and took her oncle's arm, the two of them stepping out of their secluded space to rejoin society. She doubted anyone missed their presence. They were only two amongst a vast majority, though somehow Tante Finnley managed to find her husband and steal him away for a dance. She didn't mind though. Her spirits had been lifted, and seeing her family so happy brought her happiness as well.

Gen watched her tante and oncle spin circles around every other couple on the dance floor. The way they were looking at one another, the way they were moving together was just like something out of a story book. Their romance made everyone else in the room oooh and ahhh and had the cameras rolling to capture every second. Gen shifted her gaze to find Elodie standing off to the side watching forlornly at her parents while the boy who had been flirting with her earlier danced with someone else, and Gen started wondering if this was what her future looked like. If this was what the Selection had in store for her: someone to run around circles with in time to the camera's flash.


	6. A Night to Remember

A/N: Some shameless fluff up ahead. Hope you guys enjoy! Thank you so much for your continual support and love!

* * *

A Night to Remember

Jet lag was a bitch.

The time change left her groggy, disoriented, and completely exhausted, but despite the fact that she was living in the longest night ever, Gen could not find a way to fall asleep. Her nerves were working on overdrive, her overactive imagination running rampant with all the chaos and dangers the morning could bring. She tried to sleep on the plane to no avail and ended up staring out the window while Neelam reclined over two chairs and Heather just kept on working (Gen was starting to think that woman was part machine at the rate she was going). Gen watched as the ocean turned to mountains which turned to city lights until the plane started descending into the familiarity of her home country. It didn't get any better once Gen was back in Versailles either. No one was out to greet her at such an hour, which was fine. Gen didn't feel like talking to anyone just yet, especially not her brother. She didn't want to have to talk to him about New Years; he would only make her feel worse than she already was.

Since she couldn't sleep, Gen took to wandering down the halls. It was too late to crash in the Hall of Mirrors as it would be too dark to watch her reflections without turning on the billions of lights and waking up everyone within a ten mile radius. She'd have to make do with the rest of her home, the paintings on the walls and the antiques displayed distracting her for at least a moment. She wondered if the kitchen still had leftovers out from dinner...or ice cream. It was worth a try; food always made her feel better. (It was a miracle she wasn't fat...seriously. There was a reason she needed a dietitian). The fastest way to get to the kitchen was to take the stairs and cut through the library. It wasn't the safest route; there was always the chance of running into Vange in the library, but it was past her sister's bedtime so she should be safe.

For a larger-than-life palace, the main library was actually underwhelming. History told that it used to be the king's private library; there were others scattered about the palace, but this one was the a biggest: an open room dotted with mahogany tables and lounging chairs with a fireplace in the back while hundreds of books lined the walls from floor to ceiling behind glass cabinets. The hall leading to it was lined with a series of intricate arches. As Gen walked under them, her footsteps were all she heard. However, as she got closer to and closer to the library, she started to hear muffled voices. She couldn't pick out one, but the other definitely belonged to that of the male species.

There was only one person brazen enough to traipse through the palace this late at night (other than herself) with someone else in tow.

Beau.

Gen was fired up. She was ready to haul ass and take names. This was just perfect. This was exactly what she needed - a scandal the night before the Selection. Beau just had to go an make things about him...well not anymore.

"Beau if you are screwing another Swendish supermodel I _swear_ I am going to - !"

\- promptly have a heart attack because the poor innocent soul curled up on the floor in a pile of blankets with a pack of cookies at his feet and one dangling out of his mouth was definitely _not_ Beau.

" _Ah mon Dieu_...you are not my brother..." Gen muttered, frozen in her tracks while her soul left her body. This could not be happening. Not even day one and she was already making stellar first impressions, permanently scarring the poor guy. Just look at him, his eyes wide and desperate for some sort of answer as to why the hell he was being verbally assaulted by a crazy person...and that wasn't even considering what those words were...what this guy must now think goes on in the the palace...

 _Good job Gen, you've fucked this guy up for life._

"I am sooooo sorry," Gen apologized profusely once her heart restarted and the shock wore off. "I thought that you were Beau and I...I swear I'm not this _much_ all the time."

Still, there was no word. He was still staring up at her with wide, slightly scared very surprised eyes, and Gen could feel herself growing more and more uncomfortable.

"Let's just start over," she tried, sticking out a hand. "Hi, I'm Gen, nice to meet you. And you are?"

Slowly, the shock wore off and he started to move, eyeing her hand skeptically before extending his own. "Arlo."

"Arlo, well, I'm sorry to have intruded...I'll leave you alone now."

Gen had every intention of backing up and leaving the library and pretending as if nothing had ever happened. She even gave a small wave and began to turn around, but was stopped before she could successfully make her escape.

"It's cool," he said, and Gen turned back around, confused.

"It is?"

"I mean, I wasn't doing anything. You don't have to go if you don't want. It is your house after all," he said, scooting over on the blankets to make room for her. "Cookie?"

Gen nodded gratefully and took two of the chocolaty treats out of the sleeve before sitting down next to Arlo. She didn't know where he got the cookies, but if he had no qualms sneaking around the library she supposed the kitchen wasn't off limits either. From close up, she could make out more of his features. He had a tan complexion which was only darkened by the firelight casting shadows over his angular features, and dark messy hair that Gen couldn't tell if it was truly black or more of a raven color. His eyes were a shocking gold, though that had to be the fire's doing, the real color hidden away somewhere. She supposed he was handsome, very handsome actually. She wondered how many girls were waiting for him at home or if she had stolen the love of someone's life. She wouldn't be surprised with a face like that.

"Not doing anything? What am I chopped liver?" came a delayed, annoyed, and slightly tinny female voice distorted by static. Arlo merely sighed and rolled his eyes as he gestured to his open laptop.

"My sister, Blaire. We like to talk a lot."

"At three am in the morning?" Gen asked. Now that the embarrassment had worn off, she actually had a lot of questions as to what he was doing down here.

"Can't sleep."

"It runs in the family," Blaire replied with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

"Same as me I guess," Gen sighed, staring bitterly into the fireplace as she bit into the cookie.

"You've got insomnia too?" Arlo asked, arching one thick, dark eyebrow. Gen had to ask him where he got those done - they were flawless, and made her feel a bit self-conscious about the state of her own.

"Not normally. I'm just not looking forward to tomorrow," Gen admitted, surprised that she was actually telling this rando the truth when she wouldn't even talk to her parents about it. But, Gen supposed that was what happened when a girl got desperate - just turned to the nearest outlet to vent when the usual routes were busy being dicks and dictating the rest of her life.

"No offense, but isn't this kind of thing supposed to be right up your alley?"

"Parties, yes. Strange boys running around and messing everything up? Definitely not."

"I don't know about everyone else, but I didn't plan on doing any property damage," Arlo said, his words laden in sarcasm.

"Well good, because those books cost more than what most people make in a year and I'd hate to see you working a street corner or something to pay that off," Gen bantered back.

Arlo cracked a thin smile and rolled his eyes.

"You do have the body for it," Blaire commented, and Arlo's smile immediately turned into an annoyed but slightly flustered glare.

"Don't you have other friends you can bother?" Arlo asked pointedly.

"Awwww are you embarrassed?" Blaire teased, and Gen had to stifle a laugh because _damn_ if this wasn't her and Beau.

"I will hang up on you," Arlo warned as he pointed a finger her way threateningly.

"That's no way to make a good impression on your new friend," Blaire chided, speaking to Arlo in a falsely sweet voice meant to irk him.

"You know, you're a real pain in my ass sometimes."

"I know, but you still love me."

Arlo simply gave a withering sigh and looked away from the screen, shaking his head. Even though he didn't say it back, Gen knew he meant the same deep down past that aloof exterior. Their relationship was precious, something that Gen could connect with. She didn't know why, but this entire time she had been trying to think of the Selected as their own separate entities - things without any connections or purpose other than to win her hand. To see one of them interact with family, to see how deeply human these boys could be was jarring, but also made them less scary. Maybe Gen could survive this Selection after all...

"So what do you do around the palace?" Blaire's voice drew back Gen's attention. However, it was a strange question, one that she was not used to getting outside of fluffy interviews with teen magazines or the occasional interview when being asked about shadowing her mother. Most of the common people didn't much care to learn the internal workings of the government. Was Blaire different? She didn't seem to be. The only other explanation was that the girl didn't know who Gen was or had somehow confused her for someone else. Which was going to be awkward in a few moments if that was the case.

"I...kind of run it?" Gen said, unable to come up with a short answer to encompass all she normally did on a daily basis.

"Blaire, what the hell are you going on about? You know who Gen is," Arlo said rather cuttingly, looking at his sister like she had just said the stupidest thing he had ever heard.

"Wait, _Gen_?" Blaire repeated, her eyes growing wide. "Like _Princess_ Gen?"

Gen scooted forward so that her face was more illuminated and gave a small wave to the camera. " _Salut!_ "

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Blaire's scream was ear-piercing, so incredibly loud that both Gen and Arlo had to cover their ears and duck for cover. Gen should have been expecting that. She should have seen it coming a mile away. But it was three in the morning and her mind wasn't as sharp as it usually was, which was why when her head hit the pile of blankets, she had the urge to stay down and pursue sleep. But Blaire was still screaming and Arlo looked ready to punch her in the face.

"Jesus! Wake up the whole palace why don't you?" Arlo hissed, scrambling to turn down the volume before his sister's screeches broke the windows.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME I WAS TALKING TO THE PRINCESS?!" She demanded. The fact that the girl could actually form words while screaming was impressive.

"She introduced herself like five minutes ago! How the hell did you miss that?"

"I WAS IN THE BATHROOM!"

"Okay why don't we all calm down before the guards come in here and have us arrested," Gen intervened, and thankfully, things calmed down. Blaire silenced her screaming and after a few moments without the telltale footfalls of the guards, Gen let out a long breath. They were safe, for now.

"I'm sorry, it's just...wow, I am _such_ a big fan!" Blaire gushed, and if Gen wasn't mistaken, there were actual tears pooling in the corner of this girl's eyes.

"No kidding," Gen chuckled, reaching for another cookie. Dealing with all the screaming really sucked the energy right out of a girl. Of course, Gen was used to admiring fans and a bit of adoration, but that was something else - a whole new level that she would rather not revisit any time soon.

"I have so many things I want to ask!" Blaire announced, and rummaging could be heard from the other end.

"Blaire no, not the list..." Arlo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Gen had no idea what 'the list' was, but she was intrigued.

"Yes the list," Blaire insisted, the rummaging continuing, now with the added opening and slamming of drawers.

"Come on she just met me, can we please take it down a notch? I don't want her to think I come from a family of psychos."

"Arlo, shut it. This is my dream, not yours."

He promptly ceased all his protests, instead choosing to slump against the chair and groan. Whatever was on this list must have been embarrassing, and Gen wasn't sure whether she should encourage Blaire to keep going or feel bad for the poor guy. However, Gen didn't think she had the power to stop this girl from having her way, princess or not.

A moment later, Blaire reappeared on screen with a spiral bound notebook and a handful of pens. She was already open to a certain page, little tabs and post-its scattered around the others. It looked like a rainbow of notes, and Gen was even more intrigued. Blaire cleared her throat and found her place, a finger running along a line on the page.

"Okay, first question: What's your favorite color?"

"Blue. But not like a bright blue, more like a deep ocean blue," Gen replied. This wasn't so bad; she had no idea what Arlo was complaining about. "What's yours?"

"It's a tie between hot pink and black. Hot pink because it's just so pretty and feminine, but black because, despite this _flawless_ demeanor, I can kick ass and take names," She explained, surprising Gen by actually having a rationale behind her choices. This girl was something else, nothing like her quiet, reserved older brother. "Arlo's is black. But you don't have to be a genius to figure that out. It's all he wears - a throwback from the emo days he just can't let go. Though I made him promise to dress like a normal person around the palace. I'm glad to see you're keeping up your end of the bargain."

Arlo simply flipped his sister off as she grinned like a maniac.

"Speaking of clothes! Would you let me borrow some of your dresses? It doesn't matter if we're not the same size - that can be fixed," Blaire requested, and Gen could actually see her bouncing where she sat in anticipation.

"Yeah...sure," Gen agreed. It wasn't like she used the clothes after she was done with them anyway. "I'll have Arlo give me the address."

"Please, don't indulge the crazy," he insisted, seconds away from pleading, but Gen didn't take him as that kind of guy.

"I have four siblings. Trust me, this doesn't even come close to crazy."

"Oh my gosh that reminds me - next question!" Blaire exclaimed, steam rolling right through everyone else. "Would you rather - "

"What is going on in here?" Came a masculine voice from Blaire's side of the screen, making the younger girl go silent. Gen looked to Arlo for answers, but he was back to groaning and scrubbing his face with annoyance. When two figures - one older male and one older female - came into focus behind Blaire, Gen got the picture. The guards may not have caught them, but the parents were swooping in to end the party.

" _Chouchoute_ , what's all the fuss?" their mother asked, sounding concerned but also very tired. She must've been fast asleep. _That must be nice_ , Gen thought jealously.

"I was talking to Arlo and then look! It's the princess! We've been bonding and now we're best friends!"

Gen didn't have the heart to correct Blaire that a few minutes worth of conversation did not make them close, but Blaire seemed so enthusiastic - kind of like Louis that it would be impossible to deny her what she wanted. So, Gen simply smiled and waved to the screen as both parents squinted their eyes to get a better look.

"My goodness," their mother gasped, one hand to her chest while she fixed her robe. Their father merely stared dumbstruck for a second before Blaire's excitement startled them.

"Isn't it awesome?"

"I sort of crashed the call," Gen said apologetically. "Sorry if I've disturbed you."

"Oh, no! Not at all dear. Our Blaire is a little...excitable," their mother trailed off, a hand running gently through Blaire's hair. The younger girl either didn't hear the intended slight or didn't bother to care. Gen figured it was the latter; she figured nothing could ruin what Blaire was most likely considering the best night of her young life.

"I can tell," Gen replied with a smile.

"So, you kids having fun?" their father asked, seemingly unfazed that it was three in the morning and his children were up and about. This must be a normal occurrence at their house.

"Cookies, blankets, early-onset deafness...we're having a ball," Arlo replied dryly.

"Come on now Arlo, be nice. You want the princess to like you, don't you?" their father said while Arlo shook his head.

"Just seeing you two together is just so precious," their mother gushed, clasping her hands together. "You would make such gorgeous children!"

Gen nearly choked on her bite of cookie.

"OKAY, that's enough from you now, talk to you later byeeee!" Arlo got out in a rush before slamming the laptop shut.

"Sorry about them...they get a little carried away," he apologized as he ran a hand through his hair, much less confident than before.

"I think it's precious. They seem wonderful," Gen replied.

Arlo simply nodded his head and averted his gaze. If Gen didn't know better she would swear she could see the start of a red blush work it's way up his cheeks. He must've been embarrassed; parents had a way of getting there quicker than anyone else knew how. They also reacquainted Gen with the fact that she had conveniently forgotten over the past hour: that these boys were here to win her over. They all probably harbored feelings for her, and to have his inadvertently outed by his parents like that almost made Gen feel bad for him.

"So now that I've broken pretty much every rule, you'll have to kick me out right? That's how this works? I won't be sad if you do, choose to kick me out that is. I promise I won't shed a tear," he drew the track that a tear would take down his cheek and Gen laughed.

"That's great, but I'm not going to kick you out."

"That's fine, totally support that decision a hundred per - wait, why not?" Arlo seemed confused, like he honestly believed that Gen was going to kick him out for something so minor.

"Because you're the first guy I've met and you don't actually scare me," Gen admitted.

"But I've broken curfew, snuck into unauthorized parts of the palace...I've met with you before we're supposed to - that's grounds for immediate dismissal."

"You're really pushing this aren't you?" Gen continued with the joke, but Arlo was no longer smiling. He was serious, and the mood died down. "You really want to leave..."

"Look, you seem like a really great girl, but I really don't belong here. I didn't even want to get picked - I only entered to appease Blaire. Besides, I don't think you would be very happy once you got to know me..."

"What - have you like murdered people or something?" Gen asked, being purposely indignant. Though she was loathe to admit it, even though she didn't want these guys here, it still stung to be rejected, especially for bullshit reasons like that. "Because I have to admit, on first glance you did give off that emo-stalker vibe underneath that huge pile of fuzzy blankets."

Arlo's lips quirked upward for the shortest of seconds before his serious expression returned. He seemed uncomfortable, like he didn't want to have this conversation. Normally Gen would have let the topic go, but this was important. She needed to know what was going on before she made huge decisions that would impact both of their futures. "I can't...I'm not able to provide what you're looking for..."

"Which is...?"

"I can't love you in the Selection-y way," he replied bluntly, looking into the fire, the next part hard for him say outright. "I can't be your husband. I don't like people in that way. I just can't."

"Oh," Gen said, all the pieces clicking into place. She was wrong about him. He wasn't embarrassed because he had feelings for Gen. He was panicked because he was hiding the fact that he didn't. "You're asexual."

A single nod gave the confirmation she sought.

"So you're serious? You aren't interested in me at all...?" Gen asked. She wanted to make sure this was explicitly clear, that she wasn't just hearing what she wanted to hear.

"I'm not interested," Arlo confirmed, and Gen let out a giant sigh of relief.

"Thank. _Dieu_."

"I'm confused," Arlo said, his face scrunched up as he tried to understand why Gen was currently tossing her head back and laughing some crazy, unhinged joyous laugh. She must have truly looked insane in that moment, but the relief she felt was unreal. It was like one weight out of thirty-five had been lifted off her shoulders.

"You have no idea how wonderful that is to hear."

"Should I be offended?"

Gen didn't reply, too busy getting up and spinning around. She felt so happy, so irrationally happy, to not have to worry about Arlo. He seemed like a nice guy; nice enough at least once. He would be a piece of work, though not as hard as Beau. Perhaps Arlo could even be a friend to her. He had already proven himself to be quite a good shoulder to cry on so to speak.

"Does this mean I get to leave?" Arlo asked again, and Gen laughed some more.

Like hell she was going to let him leave now. He had just been promoted to friend status whether he knew or liked it or not.

Gen merely skipped out of the library and shouted over her shoulder, " _À demain Arlo_!"


	7. Meet the Parents

A/N: Sorry it's been so long you guys. It's been a rough few weeks both school-wise and personal-life-wise. Plus I got distracted by other projects and then 13 Reasons Why happened and my life is just a mess. But I don't plan on abandoning this story, even if the updates do come a little later than anticipated. Thanks for sticking through this with me. I love you all so much, and I hope you like this chapter. Until I was writing this, I had no idea how many guys were standoffish, so this may just read like "Gen gets rejected by literally everyone and it drives her crazy" - which I thought was pretty funny. Just so you know, there's an OC of mine making an appearance in this chapter/story but they won't be stealing any of the limelight away from your guys, promise. Also, if your guy doesn't get featured much in this chapter, don't worry (there was only so long I could make this)! More introductions and fun times to come! Enjoy! :)

* * *

Meet the Parents

Introductions with the Selected were to start at nine sharp.

Naturally, that meant that Gen was just rolling out of bed at eight forty-five with the worst case of bed-head she had ever seen. She grumbled as she stared at her reflection, resenting her parents for the umpteenth time that week. They knew she was not an early riser. Paired with the fact that she didn't get to bed until nearly sunrise examining her conversation with Arlo and fretting over the joys the day would bring, this was a rough start to a what was bound to be a rough day.

" _Votre Altesse_ , look at you," Elyan fretted, practically running circles around Gen as she frantically tried to make her look presentable.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Gen asked, wiping at her eyes while her maid pulled a brush as gently as she was able through the knotted mess atop her head.

"You specifically told me to never wake you before ten unless I wanted to be banished to Portugal," Elyan replied, twisting the now-tamed hair into a bun atop her head.

"I did?" Gen asked, not remembering that at all.

"It was the morning after Bastille Day," Elyan supplied, yanking perhaps a little harder than needed. "You threw a pillow at me."

"Oh," Gen said, needing no more explanation. Bastille Day was...rough...to say the least. She remembered something about Jell-O shots and daring Beau to jump in the Fountain of Latona but the rest was a blur. " _Désolé._ I repeal that order."

"As you wish," Elyan complied, moving on from Gen's hair to her face. First she scrubbed it raw, then beat it with so many brushes and products that all Gen could breath in was powder particles. Her maid was a flurry of motion that she could barely keep up with, pulling Gen up out of her seat and into the closet. Gen didn't even get a say in what she wanted to wear (not that even Elyan would let her out for such an important moment in sweats). Suddenly, fabric ambushed her vision in a sea of blue; all she could feel was the caress of silk against her torso and legs and the metal of a zipper being yanked across her spine. A dress then, Gen surmised. The next moment she was being yanked to the opposite end of her closet, her feet jammed in shoes she didn't even know she owned. Only then, on her way to her jewelry drawer, did Elyan put Gen in front of a mirror.

"Elyan, you are a miracle worker," Gen praised as she admired her reflection, completely unrecognizable from the monster that first rose out of bed twenty minutes ago.

"Glad you approve, _Votre Altesse_ ," Elyan preened as she positioned Gen's favorite purple cameo tiara atop her head, pinning it in place. With the last diamond accessories fastened on her ears and wrist, Gen was free to go.

"I'll be back later...hopefully," Gen said, praying to be released to her own devices after breakfast.

She was only slotted an hour to greet all thirty-five of her suitors, and thanks to her overwhelming need for sleep, that time was now further reduced. She would only have time for a cursory greeting and a _'comment allez-vous?'_ before moving on to the next guy. Not that it was devastating...well not to her. The guys might feel a little jipped, but oh well.

Gen took the stairs by twos, going as fast as she could in heels. She hated the damned things. Screw perception and screw the rules; she wanted to wear jeans. It was another five minutes (would have been two if she were in sneakers) before she got to where she needed to be. Unfortunately, there was already someone waiting for her: her brother.

"You do know this was supposed to start ten minutes ago," Beau said dryly, already waiting for Gen at the foot of the stairs. He was clad in coral-colored suit with silver paisley tie and pocket square, the colors making his blue eyes pop. On anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous, but Beau had a penchant for pulling off the un-pull-off-able. It almost made Gen feel self-conscious about the simple blue lace dress Elyan had picked. But then she remembered that she didn't really give a damn what these boys thought of her, and if they thought she was too casual then so be it. It would be easier to send them off if they didn't like her.

"A princess is never late. Everyone else is simply early," Gen replied curtly, squaring her shoulders to face whatever was about to come through those doors.

"Quoting Julie Andrews, really?" Beau asked amusedly.

"Just shut up and smile," Gen sighed, not in the mood for any of Beau's antics. "And for the love of _Dieu_ , please do not fuck this up."

"Me? Fuck things up? Never," Beau said as he pretended to be offended. One glare from Gen was all it took to shut him up. "Okay fine, my lips are sealed."

The first one out the door was a small New Asian guy dressed in a simple white button down, sweater, and black pants. He was lithe, almost fragile looking, with wispy black hair that fell just below his ears. His eyes were cast towards the ground, his hand fidgeting nervously as he approached. Gen could see him shaking from yards away, though she admired the way he still managed to smile through what she assumed was a terrifying experience. Was she really that intimidating? It wasn't like she was some sort of monster.

They stood in silence for a minute before Gen spoke since he refused to make the first move.

" _Bon matin_ ," she said cheerfully in the hopes of picking things up.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he replied shakily, like he had been rehearsing the line off a piece of paper. "I'm Lucas Aubry."

"Nice to meet you Lucas," Gen smiled, though his smile in return was rather tight, like he was uncomfortable. He made no move to continue the conversation, so Gen swayed on her toes, grasping at something to talk about. His name was pulling strings in her head, like she'd seen it somewhere before. "You're in the music industry right?"

He nodded, both pleased and surprised, like he wasn't expecting her to know him. Gen didn't know what it was, but something about her made him flustered.

"I write songs for popular musicians," he answered briefly, not giving her much more to run with. Gen bit down on her bottom lip, mind working frantically to keep the conversation afloat.

"I would love to hear one sometime," Gen continued honestly. She'd hung around musicians and celebrities before; they'd been great company, and watching them work was incredibly inspiring.

"Ummm..." he stammered, running a hand through his dark hair. There was a pinched, somewhat worried look on his face, like he wasn't comfortable with the idea but had no clue how to tell her no. "I really...don't uh...perform for people. I'm sorry."

He looked so guilty, so upset about possibly hurting her that it freaked Gen out. She didn't know what to do, didn't know how to make this better. When the hell had this conversation gone so wrong?

"That's fine," Gen assured, not wanting to work him up any further. "I'm sure we can figure out something else to do."

Lucas nodded but said nothing else, returning to his fidgeting.

"Well, if there is nothing else then...um...breakfast is right down the hall," Gen instructed, pointing Lucas in the direction of the dining room.

Lucas gave an apologetic smile before dashing away. If Gen wasn't mistaken, she could almost hear a sigh of relief coming from his direction.

"That was weird," Gen told Beau, worrying the hem of her dress between her fingers. "Are they all going to be like that?"

"I doubt it," Beau replied, trying his best to be assuring. "That poor kid was scared out of his mind."

"Am I really that horrible?"

"You're the Crown Princess of France," Beau reminded her. "You might forget you're royalty sometimes but these guys...that's all they've seen you as. They don't know the real you. For all they know, you're some uptight bitch who will have them beheaded if they forget to bow."

"That's not me at all," Gen refuted, frowning.

"I know that, but they don't. Not yet at least," Beau said, gesturing for the next guy to be let in. "Just give them a chance to relax and warm up to you."

Gen swallowed thickly and nodded, trying to get into a better headspace. She could do this. She was the future Queen of France. There was nothing she could not face.

A few more unmemorable introductions were made, though nothing as rocky as the first one. There were a few sweaty hands, dozens of generic compliments, and one boy who almost fainted when she touched his hand. Even though she had only been through a third of the list, it felt like ten years had gone by in the span of fifteen minutes. Just when she was about to call it quits, something remarkable happened.

A tall, pale blonde boy walked their way, smiling wider the closer he got. That smile was infectious, like he was radiating sunshine, exactly what she needed after a wave of insecurity. That, and Gen couldn't help but find entertainment from his brightly patterned shirt and yellow bow tie. He was carrying a bouquet in his hands, failing at keeping them hidden behind his back. When he approached Gen, he tipped his head respectfully.

"Lucas Travert, _Votre Altesse_ ," he said, green-blue eyes alit with joy. He was such a happy person. Gen was slightly envious.

"Another Lucas," Gen quipped, secretly hoping that this interaction would go better than the last one. "You can just call me Gen."

"I-uh...I brought you these," he stammered, looking away as he held out the bouquet of yellow roses and daisies.

"That's so sweet of you," Gen gushed, unable to stop the warm feeling in her chest because no one that came before had been that genuinely thoughtful.

Lucas flushed, a bright pink spreading up his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and he ran a hand through his blonde hair. "The yellow roses are supposed to stand for friendship, and I-uh though that um the daisies were pretty...like you..."

He seemed shy, sweet, and so innocent that Gen couldn't help but melt a little. Even if she couldn't love this guy in the romantic way, she was definitely falling for him in the way she fell for small puppies and kittens.

"I love them," Gen assured, enjoying the way he lit up around her. He really seemed to like her, and while that would be worrisome later, for now she was enjoying being liked. It was refreshing. "Thank you."

"I hope they brighten your day."

"They have," Gen said, her mood successfully lifted. "Enjoy the rest of yours."

He smiled one last time and ducked his head, making his way to the dining room like all the others before him. Gen took a moment to sniff the flowers, enjoying the sweet scent. They made her feel warm and happy, two things she did not expect to come from the Selection.

"He is wayyyy too pure for you," Beau commented.

"What the hell does that mean?" Gen snapped, feeling affronted.

"It means you would tarnish his soul as soon as he heard you curse," Beau pointed out, Gen's fingers subconsciously moving to cover her lips. The speech was so routine that she didn't even know she had cursed. She would have to work on that. Not only to be polite, but to save the face of the royal family. The last thing Gen needed was rumors flying around that the royal family had trash mouths...even if it were true.

Gen nodded to the guard to let the next guy in, and if there were ever an inkling of a time when Gen doubted her sexuality, now was that moment.

The man walking out her way was more than the 'tall-dark-and-handsome' type. He was drop dead gorgeous; even she could acknowledge that. His dark hair was pulled up neatly into a knot at the top of his head. His navy suit jacket pulled across his broad shoulders, his shoes were a bit scuffed, and if Gen looked closely, she swore she could make out a size sticker still stuck to the leg of his pants, but somehow those things just made him more interesting. More specifically, his looks made Gen's mind immediately jump to Samara. Even with all the hurt that lingered there, her damned heart still leapt in her chest. He had those same dark, soulful eyes, that same coffee colored skin that made his bright, white smile stand out. For a moment, Gen was stunned while Beau was practically salivating, too distracted to do anything but stare.

" _S-salut_ ," Gen stammered when she finally returned to a good headspace. She had no idea how long she had spaced out, but his smile was now edging on something between embarrassed and uncomfortable. Must've been a while then.

" _Salut_ ," he replied, relieved that Gen snapped out of it. But in the next moment, his eyes fixed on the bouquet and he froze with fear. "Should I have brought you flowers or something?"

Gen chuckled, handing the bouquet off to Beau who was still gaping like a fish. "No, you're fine, promise."

"Okay...okay," he repeated, seemingly to calm himself back down. "Sorry, it's just I'm a bit nervous. Not really sure what to do."

"That makes two of us," Gen admitted, trying to break the tension and smiling when it looked like she got him to relax. But then it was her turn to panic. "I'm sorry, I totally forgot to ask for your name," Gen apologized, slapping her hand to her forehead. S _nap out of it Gen! You don't even like guys! What the fuck is wrong with you?_

"Dante Sial," he answered.

"Sial?"

"It's Saudi. My Dad and his family immigrated to France when he was younger."

"And your mother?"

"French born and raised. I don't think she has any intention of ever leaving," he said, but the light in his eyes died as he spoke about his mother, so Gen decided to leave that topic alone.

"Well, I look forward to learning more about you, Dante," Gen replied truthfully.

"As do I," he said, smiling brightly again.

"See you at breakfast."

Dante nodded and walked off.

"Mine," Beau proclaimed a moment later, not even bothering to hide his gaze as he ogled Dante's ass the entire way down the hall.

"Beau, you can't just call dibs on - "

"Mine," Beau repeated, and Gen sighed and decided to let this one go.

A dozen or so more went by, all the same level of awkwardly polite. Amongst her suitors was the famous model, Merlin Philipp. Beau nearly lost his soul and went to heaven when the model came strutting out like the hall was a catwalk. He was very attractive, Gen would give him that, though she couldn't really get a word in edgewise with Beau asking a million and one questions. Once she had finally pried her brother away from Merlin, they were introduced to an artist named Ulysse. He certainly looked the part, as he was the only one to show up not in a suit, but in a pair of paint-stained jeans and an untucked flannel, his thick black framed glasses on the bridge of his nose. He smiled easily and was actually kind of funny, though she got the sense that he was way more comfortable around her than Beau, which was interesting.

After Ulysse left, the next one out the door was a well-built, tan-skinned guy who was clearly on the older end of the age-range. He was filled out in places that Gen didn't even know could be filled, his traditional black suit practically straining to stay on his body. His golden brown hair was shaved on the sides and sculpted into a bump on the top of his head, his dark eyes holding hers in a startlingly intimate manner. Gen felt strangely overwhelmed, and then promptly suffocated by his copious use of cologne and aftershave.

Gen barely knew how to react when he bent down swiftly and took her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles. "May I say you look lovely this morning, _Votre Altesse._ "

His voice was deep and accented. _Italian_ , her mind supplied while he was straightening back up. Well, that would explain the impulsively romantic behavior. Queen Nicoletta always did say that the Italian men were forward ones.

" _Merci_..." Gen said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear while swishing her dress idly around her knees. "It was actually kind of a struggle getting ready. I woke up later than I expected so my maid just sorta threw this on."

"Well if this is you running late, I am sure you dazzle when you really take the time."

"Wow," Gen said, taken aback by all the flattery. "You really know your stuff."

"Maybe," he shrugged his shoulders, trying way too hard to look casual. "You're just so easy to talk to."

"And who am I talking to?" Gen asked, playing along.

"Salvatore Esposito," he introduced with a suave (or at least that's what _he_ thought), somewhat cocky smile. Gen could tell that his ego was inflated to the size of Illéa and that he probably spent more time studying his reflection in the mirror than the textbooks. Not that those were bad things per say, just not attractive traits in anyone. Poor Salvatore...not only were they not compatible romantically, they probably weren't even compatible to be friends.

"Well, _Salvatore Esposito_ , I would love to chat all day, but I have over a dozen more candidates to talk to before the hour is up."

"Then perhaps we can chat over dinner?"

"I'll think about it," Gen told him with a polite smile, though she really had no intention of following up. She had only just gotten used to speaking to these guys; it was way too soon for a date.

"Don't think too hard," he replied with an easy smile before turning and swaggering down the hall.

"Do you think it would be easier for him to wear a sign saying 'horny and DTF' or does he really have success picking up women like that?" Beau asked, and Gen snorted so loudly that she had to peek over her shoulder to make sure Salvatore hadn't heard.

"I give him props. Speaking to the princess like that is ballsy."

"It's also creepy as fuck. Not to mention borderline rapey," Beau pointed out, frowning.

"It is not rapey. Don't be so dramatic," Gen chided. Her brother was always jumping to conclusions, and while she appreciated his active participation in feminism and protecting her, this was one situation where guys coming onto her would have to be excused. "If he tried to touch me, that would be one thing. But it's not like he did anything unwanted. He is here to date me and has to compete with all these other guys. To be that bold takes initiative...something most of these guys do not have."

"Yeah, you really did seem to get a crop of nervous nellies."

"It's kinda worrisome," Gen said, wondering if she would be able to pull off a fake Selection if the guys were going to fight her the whole way. "They do know they're going to have to go to public events and do projects and actually talk to me right?"

"I hope so. Or else this is going to be a long few months."

The next guy to come sauntering out of the doors was unlike the others. For starters, he was dressed impeccably, far more formal than anyone before him. Not a single dark hair was out of place, pulled back from his sharp, angular face. His skin was Middle-Eastern in complexion - Indian if she had to guess - and flawless, his dark eyes taking in everything with critical analysis. Gen felt like she was being studied, like she was being assessed. He was such an overwhelming presence that for the first time, the power in the room switched from her to him.

"Lochan Bellerose. A pleasure," he greeted formally. He seemed rigid and unwilling to relax. It made Gen feel inadequate, like she was being lazy.

"I hope you've settled in well."

"Yes. Everything here is so _quaint_ ," he replied, the smile on his lips practiced and, in Gen's honest opinion, not very friendly.

"Well, the palace is hundreds of years old," Gen tried to joke to lighten the mood, but all she got was another simpering, thin-lipped smile.

" _Oui_ , and it surely shows," Lochan answered, his tone failing at carrying the humor, instead sounding condescending, like he was insulting her home. Gen felt affronted; even Beau stiffened by her side. But Gen let it pass. Maybe he was just nervous. Or maybe he was just an entitled rich kid. It was too soon to tell, but she was gunning for the latter.

Gen cleared her throat as the tension in the room grew awkward. She found herself shifting where she stood, trying to avoid his shrewd, intense eye contact. "I believe you have yet to meet my brother, Beau."

"Charmed," Lochan said as the two shook hands.

"Love the suit," Beau complimented.

Gen had to admit, the guy had nice taste. Expensive, clearly, but nice. His black three piece suit was cut and tailored to perfection, clearly one that he brought with him and not one of the one's supplied by the personal stylists in the palace. The only pop of color came from the deep maroon of his tie, pocket square, and... _holy shit - ruby cufflinks_! No wonder Beau was impressed. However, Lochan's eyes slid up and down Beau's more ostentatious ensemble with something akin to disapproval and disgust hidden behind a thin veneer of politeness.

" _Merci_ ," Lochan replied, though Gen got the feeling it was only because his good manners told him to. "Shouldn't we be getting on with something?"

"You're completely right," Gen smiled and gestured behind her. "The dining hall is just down this way."

Lochan inclined his head cordially and continued on his way, hands clenched in fists at his side. Gen had no idea why. It took all she had not to knock him down a few pegs.

"What a douchebag," Gen said to her brother once Lochan was gone.

There was nothing about that guy she liked. He was rude to Beau, he insulted her home (albeit indirectly), and he acted holier-than-thou as if he owned the place. Just who the hell did he think he was?

"Well that douchebag happens to be part of a very wealthy family that could look really well paired with ours, so I wouldn't count him out just yet."

"How the hell do you know that?" Gen asked, now a bit freaked out about how much Beau knew about the Selected. "Have you been spying on them?"

"I've done my research."

"Beau," Gen fumed warningly, her brother treading on thin ice. "There are boundaries."

"Be thankful one of us did," Beau shot back, not an ounce of jesting left in his tone. "You wouldn't remember one of their names if it were written across their forehead, nonetheless anything about their personal lives."

"That's not true!" Gen protested.

"Please," Beau scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You've been cycling through these guys as fast as you can, willing it to be over so you can go back to your room and pretend that they don't exist. I know you don't want to do this and that you asked for help, but Jesus Christ Gen, this is your Selection. Pull your own weight. If you don't, people will talk."

"Is this a bad time?" came a familiar voice. "If it is, I can just come back later."

 _Or not at all_ , Gen read between the lines. At least, that's what she assumed the voice in Arlo's head was thinking. Judging by the look on his face, she was certain he was still hoping to get the boot.

"Arlo," Gen replied jovially, enjoying the way Beau's face contorted into surprise as he was forced to eat his words. "No, not a bad time at all. How are you this morning?"

"Just fine," Arlo replied curtly, hands in his pockets as he rocked on the heels of his black converse. "This the brother?"

"Yes. This _lovely_ ray of sunshine is my brother Beau. Beau, this is Arlo..."

"Moreau," Arlo supplied, extending a hand for Beau to shake. "Nice to meet you."

"Right back at you," Beau glanced down at Arlo's hand before shaking it, though eventually he accepted the gesture once the strangeness of the situation wore off.

Arlo stepped in a bit closer than what was considered proper and lowered his voice so that only she could hear. "Are we going to talk about - "

"Later," Gen assured with a smile, taking a step back and gesturing to the hall that led to the dining room. "Breakfast is two doors down on your right. I trust you won't get lost."

"Well, you never know," Arlo said dryly before walking away, and Gen sniffed a laugh.

"Okay, what the hell was all that about? Did you two fuck or something?" Beau asked as soon as Arlo was out of earshot, casting a glance back to make sure the coast was clear. "Because if you've discovered that you are instead bisexual, then I need to hear the deets _right now_."

"Still gay, no fucking," Gen dismissed. "I ran into him in the library last night."

"How scandalous," Beau gasped, though purely for dramatic effect. He was already bored of the story now that the sexual connotation had been removed.

"Hardly," Gen rolled her eyes, trying not to check her phone for the time. "Are these almost over?"

"Just two or three more, then you're home free."

"Great because I am _starving_ ," Gen moaned, desperately craving food.

The last few meetings seemed to drag on, if only because Gen was tired and over it and just wanted to curl up with a plate of croissants and watch her favorite soap opera for the rest of the night. It didn't help that one of the guys, Sébastien, said all of three words to her - each one mumbled under his breath, and the next one after him, Hugo, essentially did the same thing except responded in short, clipped sentences. The last one, a nurse named Anatole, was actually entertaining to talk to, if only because Beau immediately got on him about how pulling a blue blazer over a black dress shirt was a sin and then they started bickering which essentially turned into a 'who can out-compliment the other' match that Gen was loathe to break up. Anatole mumbled something about how they were lucky he showed up in actual clothes and not scrubs before walking away, and Gen cuffed her brother upside the head for being an ass.

" _Tu me fais chier,_ " Gen grumbled, practically dragging Beau down the hall where they could finally get food. The smells had been taunting her the whole time, and her stomach rumbled the closer she got to the heavenly banquet.

When Gen walked in, she desperately tried to ignore the fact that all eyes were on her. She made her way to her seat, same as any morning. Delphine was still sneering at her through poorly disguised side eye, Evangeline was had her nose stuck in a new book, her mother was working on her daily stack of legislature, Louis was poking his eggs refusing to eat them, and her father had yet to show.

" _Bon matin, ma chérie_ ," Maman said, not even looking up from her pages. "I see all your suitors have settled in. Any catching your eye?"

"Too soon to tell Maman. I've known them for all of five minutes," Gen sighed, heaping her plate full of warm, carb-filled goodness and butter. Fuck her dietician. She deserved this.

"I knew I was going to marry your Papa the first moment I saw him," her mother reminisced, though it seemed more like an odd warning. Like a why-didn't-you-open-yourself-to-love-and-recognize-the-signs? kind of thing.

"That's wonderful and all, but not everyone is you and Papa."

Her mother was going to say something, Gen could tell. Her lips were pursed, her brow furrowed. Like this, Gen could actually see her mother's years. Not that she was old, but she was worried about something. Gen didn't get the chance to ask, because the doors were being opened once more, this time to let her father in.

"Now this is a sight I haven't seen since Eady's Selection," Papa commented as he made his way to his usual seat next to Maman, placing a kiss on her forehead before sitting down. "At least they're smiling this time. Eady held a surprise elimination right before breakfast on the first day. Over a third of them got sent home, and the ones that were left were terrified."

"Don't go getting any ideas," Maman warned, eyeing Gen as she pointed a fork her way.

"Damn it, you've foiled my evil plan," Gen joked in a deadpan, already tired of being home. Was it too soon to call Oncle Kaden and take another trip, this time for forever?

"So Gen, mind telling us why you were up so late in the library last night?" Papa asked, look towards Gen expectantly.

"I was just brushing up on some Late-American classics," Gen lied with a smile, trying to get him to drop the subject.

"Really, which one?"

 _Damn it Papa,_ Gen cursed. Like she really knew any books that fell under that category. When was the last time she even pulled a book off a shelf in that dusty old place? She had no idea, and her father knew it too. Still, she wracked her mind, hoping that something she learned from her lessons would come in handy.

"Twilight."

Laughter broke out amongst the table and Gen flushed a bright pink. Of course that heaping pile of trash about sparkly vampires would be the only thing she remembered from her lessons. It wasn't her fault that she didn't find _Le Petit Prince_ and _Les Misérables_ enthralling. There was a reason that boring shit was left in the past.

"I think we all learned enough about history to know that Twilight is a far cry from classic literature," Beau commented snidely - as if he knew a damn thing about literature himself, waving his fork in the direction of the guys. "Sorry to offend you Arlo, I know you have the whole children of the night thing going on"

Arlo scowled deeply while the other guys chuckled. Gen took the time to survey them - this collection of unlikely suitors from all different walks of life. They all seemed to have friends already, making connections and talking as if they hadn't just met the night before. It was strange to watch, even stranger to think that this would be a staple of her life for the unforeseen future.

"Wait, Mamé 'Merica wrote a book?" Louis asked, thoroughly confused.

"No Louis, your Mamé America was named after the country America, which is now Illéa," Maman told him, but he still seemed lost.

"So Mamé 'Merica was a country?"

There was more laughter from the table. Louis' face was getting red, like he was going to throw a tantrum, but as bad as she felt for him, Gen couldn't help herself from laughing too.

"We might need to talk to his tutors about some extra history lessons," Gen suggested, taking another bite from her pancakes.

Her parents nodded along, seeming to agree with her on the first thing in a while. Gen reached out and ruffled her little brother's hair playfully, enjoying how he pretended to still be upset when he was trying not to smile. Everything felt so normal that she almost forgot that there was a table full of strangers right in front of her.

Maybe this wasn't going to be too terrible after all.


	8. Paging Agent 00-Disaster

A/N: Sorry about the long wait again. I'm a horrible human being, I know. My life has been hectic between searching for jobs, finals, and graduation, but I'm alive. I've been on rotation at a hospital pharmacy this past month which has eaten up a huge portion of my time even though I love the hospital and the people who work there to death. As sleep-deprived as I am, I'll really miss that place. Anyway, hopefully now that summer is here and school and rotation are officially over I will get back to updating more frequently!

* * *

Paging Agent 00-Disaster

Breakfast went on smoothly enough, and before Gen knew it plates were being cleared and everyone was filing out the door to go on with their day to day lives. Well, their new day to day lives. She remembered reading something about how today was an orientation type day for the guys to get acclimated to palace life. Gen didn't really care what they did so long as they stayed far away from her and let her have some peace. They could go make friends with one another and play video games or wrestle or whatever it was that straight boys did. The only straight boy she knew intimately besides her father was Louis, and playing with action figures was one of those things she hoped stayed in the childhood phase of life.

As she got up, Gen caught sight of Beau walking suspiciously close to a group of Selected, flashing his most charming smile which immediately set off alarms in her brain. Her first instinct was to get her brother away from those boys as quickly as possible, putting an extra pep in her step so that she could intervene before any damage was done.

"Gen, Heather would like to see you in your room after you're finished here," her mother intervened, cutting off Gen's path to the boys.

"If she wants to speak to me, she can make an appointment like everyone else," Gen quipped as she struggled to look over her mother's shoulder, her brother's blond head slipping out of her line of sight.

"Please don't start this again," her mother begged, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just meet with Heather and see what she wants. I'm sure it has to do with the Selection."

"You don't know?" Gen asked, surprised. Her mother was on top of everything always. She knew everything that went on in the palace.

"You wanted me to be hands-off, so this is me being hands-off," her mother said, both raised in front of her for effect. "I'm out of this. The Selection is your responsibility Gen, your first trial as future queen. So long as you don't embarrass France and her people, I don't care what you do."

"Who are you and what did you do to my mother?" Gen quipped, not trusting this new, chill Maman.

"Ha ha, very funny," her mother said dryly, rolling her eyes but unable to stop from gently smiling. "But in all seriousness, you're doing great so far. Just try to keep things that way."

"Yes ma'am," Gen saluted, looking over her mother's shoulder only to see Beau near the far end of the dining hall, playfully swatting at Merlin's arm.

 _Merde._

"I'll go now and see if she's there," Gen said, pecking her mother quickly on both cheeks before stepping away. " _Je t'aime!_ "

Despite the quick escape, it was too late. By the time she turned back around, Beau's head was disappearing out the dining room.

 _Plus merde._

There were only a few stragglers left in the room, one of which being Arlo, his hands shoved deep into his jean pockets. He cast his gaze downwards, putting on his best bored-to-tears impression, but Gen could tell he had been waiting to speak to her, as she had promised.

"Careful _Altesse_. We keep meeting each other like this and people will talk," Arlo commented, a thin smile on his lips.

"You don't strike me as the type of person who gives a damn," Gen replied.

"Touché," Arlo conceded, leaning up against the wal. He seemed nervous, like he wasn't sure where the conversation was headed or what he should be doing. Or maybe it was just the broody thing he had going on that prevented him from making direct eye contact when he said, "I'll be honest. I thought I would be on a train half way back home by now."

"Look, I know you said you wanted to go but I would really appreciate it if you would just...stay."

"What could I possibly have to offer you if I stayed here?" Arlo asked, a scowl already warping his facial features.

"Friendship?" Gen suggested, the word sounding pathetic off her lips. "I've just been thrust into this insane situation, I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do, and I could really, _really_ use a friend right about now."

Arlo didn't look like he was going to bite, brow furrowed as if trying to figure out how to let her down easy.

"I won't make you do anything you don't want," Gen continued, hurrying to try to keep his interest. "You don't have to go on dates with me...well maybe one just to keep up appearances...and you'd still have to do Selection stuff, but you don't have to worry about any funny business, I _promise_ you that."

"I don't know Gen..."

"Just think about how happy it will make Blaire! She'd be ecstatic to know you're here. It would mean so much to her."

"Oh, that's low," Arlo said darkly, though his eyes were alit with humor that let her know that he wasn't really upset. "Fine, I'll stay."

" _Merci, merci beaucoup_!" Gen shouted, tackling him in a hug. Arlo stiffened under the embrace, and Gen quickly backed away. "Got a little carried away..."

" _Un petit-peu_?"

Gen rolled her eyes and elbowed him gently, a weight she didn't know she was carrying lifted off her shoulders. They stood in companionable silence, unsure of the rules of their newfound relationship. Laughter coming from the few remaining guys in the room brought her back to the present, reminding her that not every guy was like Arlo. She wouldn't have to beg all of them to stay, but she had a feeling that she wouldn't want any of them to stay for long anyway, just long enough to make a passable Selection before getting hitched to the least annoying option. But until then, she still had to try.

"So, as my friend, do you have any advice?" Gen asked tentatively, her gaze flicking to the group of guys who would occasionally look at she and Arlo with curiosity.

"Advice?" Arlo repeated, confused.

"Yeah, like, what I should do now that there are thirty-five guys living in my house? Should I go up and talk to them, or is there some weird guy code that makes me wait for you to approach me?"

"Is this what you really want me for? To do all your dirty work?" Arlo accused, and Gen could not tell if he was genuinely pissed or just poking fun at her.

"Hey, we're friends now and friends help each other out."

"I better be getting paid for this," Arlo grumbled.

"Seriously Arlo, I need all the help I can get."

Arlo glared down at Gen, his dark eyes expression how much he sincerely did not like this. Gen matched his emo glare with two wide puppy dog eyes, the same kind that got her father to buy her a pony when she was six years old and the biggest sweet-sixteen bash in the history of the nation. No one was immune to the puppy dog eyes, not even Mr Hard Ass Arlo himself. It only took thirty seconds before he crumbled with a withering sigh.

"That guy hanging back from the group with the blond hair and dumb bowtie, you see him?"

"Lucas," Gen recognized. He was the one in the group of stragglers that kept looking back at them, pulling at his tie nervously and blushing every time he was caught. It was obvious that he was hanging back to get a chance to see more of her. "He brought me flowers. It was sweet."

"Yeah, well he hasn't shut up about you all breakfast," Arlo said grumpily, as if Lucas' enthusiasm was a plague on his morning. "You should go talk to him."

"Really?"

"I literally just told you to so yeah, go talk to him."

"And say what?"

"I don't know," Arlo shook his head, his patience becoming short as he was at his limit. "I'm your 'friend' not your life coach."

"Piss off," Gen shoved Arlo half-playfully and half with meaning.

"Gladly."

It was clear that he didn't give a flying fuck what she did or how this Selection went, but maybe it was a little too much of her to expect that from the guy who was previously begging to leave. She had a niggling feeling that was going to be a common theme with Arlo. Maybe she would have the guards seal the windows shut so he didn't get the urge to flee in the night.

"I've done my part. I'm out," Arlo said, turning on his heels. "See you later princess."

Gen shook her head and sucked in a breath. Now that she was left on her own to go through with the plan, it was a lot harder to gather the courage. She knew that Lucas was sweet and was no one to fear, but there was something terrifying about putting herself out there. Even though it was obvious that he liked her, he could still say no, and rejection was not something Gen took well.

Still, as Arlo had so _kindly_ pointed out, she was a princess, and princesses showed no fear. They were strong and confident. Who was a boy in comparison to such power? With that in mind, Gen held her head high and walked over to the small group of guys near the door. A few of them were unmemorable, generic carbon copies with the same smiling, overeager faces. Maybe if took this Selection more seriously, she would feel badly for not even remembering their names, but she wasn't here for them. She was here for Lucas, but that was a struggle when his back was turned to her.

"Hey, um, Lucas?" Gen said, tapping on his shoulder. Recognizing her voice, he immediately stiffened and spun around so quick she feared he would give himself whiplash.

"Oh hi Gen!"

"I just wanted to thank you again for the flowers. They were super sweet and you totally didn't have to."

"It was no biggie. I wanted to," he said with a smile, running a hand absentmindedly through his blonde hair.

"Would you _want_ to have dinner with me or something tonight?" Gen asked, trying not to let the fact that she was being watched by not only Lucas but other Selected get to her. "So I can better express my gratitude, that is."

"Are you serious?" Lucas squeaked, completely stunned until one of the guys he was with elbowed him in the ribs. Then, he snapped himself out of it and his face flushed a deep red before he replied mock-cooly with, "Yeah, yeah that sounds good."

"Good," Gen repeated, unable to keep from laughing under her breath at how flustered Lucas had become. He was precious. She knew she had power over these guys because she was a princess, but she had no idea she'd have so much power over them personally. "I'll have my maid send over the details."

"O-okay, great," Lucas nodded repeatedly, running a hand through his hair. "So I'll see you then?"

Gen nodded and walked away to the sounds of the other Selected congratulating Lucas. That was so much easier than she expected. She had no idea why she had been so worked up, but if the rest of the Selection could go like that it would be wonderful.

* * *

The meetings and that embarrassing breakfast had left her drained; she had had her fill of testosterone and now needed to curl up with a fuzzy blanket and sleep the day away. Unfortunately, niggling thoughts of her brother trailing behind a group of Selected penetrated her thoughts, meaning that her work was not yet done until Beau was accounted for and placed somewhere far away from the guys.

On her way, she ran into the one person who knew Beau better than she did: Marcel. The tall young man with a mop of curly brown hair and green eyes was to Beau what Elyan was to Gen. To call him a valet would be underselling his value, as he was also on any given day, Beau's impulse control, keeper, and occasional conscience. Most of the time, Gen felt bad for Marcel; he had to handle her brother in all his crazy glory every single day. For example, at this very moment Beau had Marcel carrying two large boxes full of Dieu-knows what. All Gen could tell was that they had to be heavy, because Marcel was straining to hold them up.

" _Marcel, est-ce que tu vois mon frère_?"

" _Je ne l'ai pas vu. Désolé Votre Altesse_ ," Marcel apologized, though he did not seem upset that he had lost Beau. Gen didn't hold that against him in the slightest.

" _Pas du problème_ ," Gen dismissed. "I'm just worried that he's going to abscond with all my Selected."

"That would certainly be in his character," Marcel agreed dryly, his lips pulling into a thin half-smile. She wouldn't be the most cheerful person either if she had to put up with Beau 24/7 like Marcel did.

"Just, when you see him, keep an eye on him for me?" Gen asked.

"Will do," Marcel nodded, continuing on his way until Gen stopped him again.

"Oh, and could you do one more thing for me?"

"Certainly."

"Your quarters are near the Selected's side of the palace. Would you mind dropping this by Lucas Travert's room on your way? It's the details for tonight's date."

"Your wish is my command," he said, not a single question about the date for which she was extremely grateful. Marcel was a blessing in disguise; unlike most people, he knew the art of discretion.

"You're seriously the best. Beau does not deserve you."

"Well, you're the only one who thinks so," Marcel replied with his wry half-smile, bowing as far as he could at the waist. "Have a good day, _Votre Altesse_."

Gen and Marcel parted ways, Gen on her way to her room. She could practically hear her bed calling out to her, begging her to crawl in and not get out until morning. As she got closer, she realized that it was not her bed that was calling, but actual voices...familiar voices...Elyan's voice to be specific. Elyan's paired with another deeper masculine voice.

That put a pep in Gen's step, running to her doors. She hesitated for only a moment, scared for what she was going to see. What if something was going on? She had never fought anyone before and wasn't sure how to if the need arose. It was terrifying, her pulse hammering. But Elyan shouted again and all her fears flew out the window. Elyan needed her, and there was no time to waste.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Gen demanded as she stormed into the room,busting through the doors fully expecting a murder in progress given all the screaming.

Instead, she was thrust into a fight between Elyan (the one _still_ screaming) and an unknown male. This guy seemed to be around her age, if not a few years older, with dark skin and equally dark, stormy eyes. He seemed to not be fazed by Elyan's screaming, the maid throwing pillows at his head while gesticulating for him to leave. They did not appear to have heard her come in, carrying on with the fight while Gen looked on in complete shock. It wasn't until she stuck her fingers in her lips and whistled that she gained their attention.

Immediately, Elyan went red in the face, embarrassed beyond belief to be seen in such an improper light. She dropped into a curtsey. " _Votre Altesse_ , forgive me, I did not hear you come in."

"I'll ask again: what the _hell_ is going on in here?" Gen repeated, trying to stay calm as to prevent round two.

" _Votre Altesse,_ this woman was in your suite - " the unknown man started, but Elyan cut him off.

" _Votre Altesse_ , this man barged into your room and tried to drag me away!"

Gen's eyes went wide, taking in Elyan's distress. Her hair was disheveled from its normal flawless updo. Her uniform was rumpled, the sleeve especially from where the man must have taken her arm. Clearly there had been a physical struggle. Gen's anger flared as she fussed over her maid, making sure she knew the extent of things.

"You stay the fuck away from my maid," Gen warned, pushing him back though his chest was solid muscle. He only stepped away from Elyan to appease her, not wanting to incur the wrath of two women. At least he didn't seem to be completely brainless.

"She had no identification on her person. I had no way to know," the man stuck to his story, though his expression did turn more remorseful.

"Look at her uniform," Gen gestured to Elyan's person. "Look at the duties she was performing. Does she look like an intruder?"

"No, _Votre Altesse_ ," the man agreed reluctantly. "Though one can never be too careful. There could be spies anywhere in the palace."

"I've known Elyan since I was ten. If she was a spy, she would have already tried to kill me by now."

"It is my duty to keep you safe."

"Well not anymore," Gen asserted with a frown. "Whoever hired you can unhire you. I don't want you."

"I really must protest - "

"You laid hands on my maid, my _friend_. That is inexcusable, not to mention that the consequence for assault on a royal staff member is immediate termination," Gen seethed, pointing a finger against his chest warningly. "I am your princess, and I say you're fired."

"Ah good, I see you've met Henri."

Gen spun around to face the new guest in the room, Heather Bloomsdale standing in the doorway, taking in the disheveled room with both distaste and amusement. It was then Gen remembered that her mother said Heather wanted to speak to her, and Gen got the niggling feeling that Heather was behind all of this.

"You know this asshole?" Gen asked sharply, nodding back towards the mystery intruder.

"This _asshole_ , as you so kindly put it, is your new bodyguard."

Gen felt like she had been slapped. She swiveled her vision back to the intruder, studying him in a new light. He stood at attention, hands tucked neatly behind his back and chest pushed out, ready for instruction. He looked so stoic, like a statue, eyes trained forward on the three women in front of him without expression. Gen believed that he was a bodyguard; he gave off that vibe easily enough. What she could not envision was his part in her life. She had her fill of strangers living in her house; she didn't want any more.

"No."

"This is non negotiable," Heather countered in her no-nonsense voice. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared Gen down, as if daring to challenge her on this.

"He barged into my room unexpected and hurt Elyan," Gen explained as calmly as she could without screaming. "I don't want him here."

"Henri was acting on my instructions. I told him to go and scope out all prevalent places in the palace for future safety concerns. I must have forgotten to warn him about the maid."

"Elyan," Gen corrected tersely, not liking how far Heather was overstepping.

"I apologize for my actions, but I was just doing my job," Henri said directly to Elyan, though she only sniffed and upturned her nose and turned her back to him, refusing to give him the time of day.

"Whatever happened to our agreement? The four guards and the thirty foot radius?" Gen said directly to Heather, anger building under her skin.

"I reviewed your requests with your parents and we all agreed that was not a very practical system," Heather said, turning to place a hand on Henri's shoulder. "One bodyguard kept close to your person is far more effective than four too far away to stop a threat."

"Can he even do anything? I mean look at him..."

"I completed my studies at Saint-Cyr and have been a part of the national military for eight years now," Henri said with the same neutral tone.

"Wow," Gen said, taken aback. She was not expecting something so impressive.

"I promise you, Henri is more than qualified for the position," Heather assured, confidence exuding from every pore of her body. "Besides, he left out the part where he is one of the youngest special-ops officers in the nation."

"Who the fuck did you get - James Bond?" Gen asked, taken aback at the intensity of this new security. "What the hell do you think is going to happen to me?"

"You are one of the most high profile, influential targets in the country. We are trying to ensure nothing happens to you," Heather stated plainly.

"Fine," Gen grumbled, caving into Heather's demands. She turned to Henri and jabbed a finger into his rock-solid chest. "I still don't like you."

"I can live with that, _Votre Altesse_ , so long as you are alive."

Gen scoffed and rolled her eyes at the cheesiness of it all.

"Okay now seriously, everyone get out of my room," Gen commanded. "Except for you Elyan. I need you."

"For what, _Votre Altesse_?"

"I've got a date tonight and this hair won't do itself."

"Oh how exciting!" Elyan jumped up and down, clapping her hands. "I'll turn the iron on."

"A date so soon?" Heather asked, arching an eyebrow suspiciously. "With who?"

"Lucas Travert," Gen named, but instead of being satisfied, Heather only looked more perturbed. "You have that look on your face again - like something smells fishy but you don't want to say anything."

"Don't you think it's a bit soon to jump into dates?" Heather asked gently, as if trying to dissuade Gen from going. "It's only the first night, and some might take the suddenness of this date the wrong way. We don't need a scandal to taint this Selection before it's even started."

"Next you're going to tell me to save myself for marriage," Gen grumbled, not wanting to discuss this anymore. It was bad enough she had convinced herself to go through with the date; she didn't need any more doubts to poison her mind. If she backed out of the date, that wouldn't look very good either. "This is France; the people live for scandal and trust me, this is tame compared to a majority of the shit that crosses the tabloids."

"Yes, but you're the princess, not a tabloid celebrity."

"Same difference really," Gen countered, much to Heather's displeasure. "I'll be a picture of modesty and grace, I promise. Is that enough?"

"I suppose," Heather conceded, though she looked far from satisfied.

"Good. Now seriously, everyone leave. I'm going to get naked pretty soon, and though I have no shame about what's going on underneath this dress, I doubt you want to see it."

Even through his dark complexion, Gen was pretty sure she saw Henri blush.

"I will be right outside should you need anything, _Votre Altesse_ ," he dismissed himself with a bow at the waist, walking out the door.

"Be careful tonight, and more importantly, have fun," Heather instructed.

" _Merci Maman_ ," Gen replied sarcastically with an over exaggerated smile, making Heather sigh and roll her eyes before leaving as well.

Finally, she was blessedly alone. Well, there was still Elyan, but Gen like the maid's presence. It was comforting, something familiar and soothing in this time of uncertainty. Gen sighed and studied her reflection in the mirror, the same make up and dress from earlier introductions now worn and rumpled. She was running off of minimal sleep and it would take a miracle worker to disguise the growing bags under her eyes. Thankfully, Elyan was the next best thing.

Elyan took her time this time. Gen didn't have to be at dinner until a few hours, so there was no need to rush. At first, she thought she could take a power nap, but she knew if she got into bed she would never want to get out, and the tabloids would not take kindly to their future queen blowing off her first date of the Selection for her beauty rest.

Gen was sunk down in her tub, steam rolling off the top of the water, when she reached out a pruny hand to take Elyan's as she added lavender to the bath.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that earlier," Gen apologized though it wasn't her fault that Heather had decided she had the right to make executive decisions.

"It's hardly your fault, _Votre Altesse_. You didn't know," Elyan dismissed.

"I should have. Heather is my advisor for Christ's sake!" Gen complained, sinking further down into the water. "I feel like I'm losing control."

"Well, I'm not sure about all that, but I can tell you one thing you for sure have control over."

"What's that?"

"This date tonight," Elyan smiled, dragging a comb through Gen's wet hair, pulling out tangles. "I'm thinking an up-do. Something to really knock his socks off! What do you think?"

"It's great," Gen agreed, but her heart wasn't really in it. She couldn't fabricate joy from scratch, and it was even harder when the date felt like a chore. As sweet as Lucas was, that didn't change the feeling like this date was something to be dreaded as it loomed over the evening. Because no matter how this date went, a great time or a giant disaster, at some point she would hurt him.

Eventually, she would hurt all of them.


	9. The Rhythm of the Night

A/N: I'm trying my best to update more frequently now that I'm home. Hopefully this story will really get moving now! Thank you for all your support and enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

The Rhythm of the Night 

An updo, despite Elyan's insistence otherwise, was not a practical choice.

Gen's hair fought every single bobby pin and hair spray until her curls were crunchy, hanging delicately around her neck while the rest of her hair was pulled tightly into a chignon. Even though it looked fancy as fuck, Gen was starting to regret asking Lucas out on a date in the first place. She was getting dolled up with her hair and makeup pristine and a new blush satin dress and heels. It wasn't even that formal (she made sure of that), but the difference was still staggering. She barely recognized herself as she gave final approval on her look, feeling strange at how different this Selection was making her.

She would much rather have met Lucas downstairs in her normal jeans and tee-shirt, but this wasn't just a normal dinner in her house. She couldn't show up in whatever she wanted and she resented that even though she knew it wasn't Lucas' fault she could no longer roam around her house however she liked. At least there wasn't going to be any cameras or ridiculous things like they had in Illéa. Gen thought they crossed lines taping every second of someone's personal life, and that was coming from someone who was part of a culture that thrived on being nosy.

The dining hall had been transformed into a romantic get away. The end table where the royals usually sat was covered in a gold-trimmed tablecloth with the finest china set out for a three-course meal that Gen could smell wafting from the kitchens. Candles flickered next to a floral centerpiece, the lights dimmed to set the mood. And then there was Henri standing in the corner sticking out like a sore thumb, dressed in his usual black suit and tie like some sort of shadowy mountain.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Gen hissed.

"I'm here to do my job, _Votre Altesse_."

"But this is a date...in the dining hall. There's hardly a need for your services."

"On the contrary, _Votre Altesse_. There is always need for my services when your safety is concerned," Henri replied matter of factly. Gen was getting real sick of his do-good attitude. Didn't he ever take a day off?

"What do you think he's gonna do - try to stab me with a fork?"

Henri did not reply, simply maintaining his stoic expression.

"Unbelievable."

The door cracked open and Lucas came sauntering in, clad in black dress pants, a checked button down with the sleeves rolled up, black striped tie, and a garnet jacket - also rolled sleeves - with the strangest looking silver buttons. Gen liked the eclectic vibe it gave - less pressure to be formal. If he had shown up in a full blown tux then she might have run for the hills. However, she was somewhat surprised there were no flowers this time, but then she remembered that they'd met all of twelve hours ago, and he wasn't in a position to leave the palace to get more.

"Wow, you look amazing," he complimented, unable to take his eyes off of Gen. All the attention was a bit too much, making her flush bright red on her cheeks. So, she did what she did best: deflected.

"Lucas, this is Henri, my bodyguard who doesn't understand the concepts of personal space," Gen introduced. "Henri, Lucas."

"Nice to meet you," Lucas said uncertainly, extending his hand for Henri to take, which the bodyguard eventually did after one long, skeptical stare.

"I'll be right by the door. You won't even know I'm here," Henri said to Gen.

"I'll know," Gen replied with a forced smile, her chipperness overtly fake. "Come on Lucas."

She pulled him further into the dining hall, dragging him by the hand as they blew past Henri who slipped silently out into the hall. Lucas, ever the gentleman, pulled out Gen's chair for her before sitting down himself. Servants promptly brought out salads as well as the main course on silver dishes, heavenly smells making Gen salivate. She had to stay behind while everyone else got dinner at a normal time, and while it wasn't pizza, filet mignon was a very close second on her favorite food list. It took everything she had to not be a beast and rip into the steak as soon as it was sat in front of her. She picked up her fork and knife, but as she cast a glance to her date, she realized that Lucas sat stock still, eyes darting between the fancy plate and all the decor that surrounded them.

"Everything okay?" Gen asked, concerned as to why Lucas looked so lost.

"I'm, uh, kind of surprised you asked me out to be honest," Lucas admitted. "It looks like you went all out."

"Why?"

Gen was curious as to why he would question her choice. He was a nice guy, a happy person who wasn't unbearable to be around like some of the guys she had met. She had no reason not to like him, no reason not to pick him.

"Just looking at the other guys here. I'm not much in comparison," he shrugged.

"But you're the only one who brought me flowers," Gen remarked, pointing her fork in his direction. "That makes you unique. Makes you stand out."

"If the princess says it then it must be true," he conceded good naturedly and Gen laughed.

There was a silence as they both enjoyed their dinners, one servant coming to pour wine which Gen took gratefully. Not because the date was going poorly; in fact, it was going well so far, she was just afraid that it wouldn't stay that way. The longer the silence lasted, both of them eating in the quiet candlelight, the antsier to grew to fill it.

"So Lucas, tell me about yourself."

"What to tell..." he trailed off, finding a place to start. "Oh! Something cool: my family and I live in Nimes, but my father is actually from Russia."

"No way," Gen interrupted. "Do you speak Russian?"

"A little," Lucas answered. "My grammar is probably on par with that of a five year old but I know enough to get around."

"That's so awesome," Gen said. "So why is your family out on the Mediterranean instead of the snowy mountains of Russia?"

"My dad's a businessman. He met my mom on a trip and decided to stay with her. His job is really flexible and he would have to travel a lot no matter where he lived, so it wasn't hard for him to move."

"How romantic."

"Yeah I guess," Lucas agreed. "When I was younger, we would all go on trips with my dad - my mom and sisters that is. I haven't been on one in a few years, but he would take us all over the globe. I got to see some pretty awesome places."

"Like where?"

"Oh, you name it!" he replied animatedly. "Brussels, Stockholm, Vienna, Jordan, Beijing, Hong Kong, the list goes on."

"Have you ever been to Naples?"

"A few years ago, yeah," Lucas said, a smile playing on his lips. "They had the best clams I have ever tasted in my entire life."

"Queen Nicoletta has a palace there along the coast. You can sit on stairs that disappear into the sea and watch the sun set across the horizon. The sand is soft as powder and the water is so clear that you can see the fish swimming meters deep," Gen remembered, and she could almost smell the brine in the air. "I go there every summer. It's one of my favorite places."

"Really?" Lucas asked, surprised but not in a bad way. "You didn't strike me as a beachy girl."

"What do I strike you as?" Gen asked back, curious.

"I don't know...a city girl. Someone who likes the hustle and bustle."

"Maybe I'm a bit of both," she replied, vaguely aware that she was flirting against her better judgement. But she'd had about two glasses of wine by this point and the warm lighting from the candles was doing wonderful things for Lucas' face. He was attractive, she would give him that. Not her normal type - too pale and of course, very male. But he had pretty pink cheeks and eager blue-green eyes that gave her his full attention, and everyone knew that Gen was an attention hoe.

"So what do you do now that you're not traveling?"

"I'm a photographer."

"Are you famous?" Gen teased, knowing he wasn't. She would have heard of him if he was, but she wanted to see his response.

"No," Lucas laughed easily, running a hand through his hair. "Not yet. But that's the dream."

"What's your favorite thing you've ever photographed?"

Lucas went quiet for a moment, thinking over her question. Then, his expression cleared into something wistful.

"There was one time my father brought me to Russia, for family or business I really don't remember but that wasn't important. It was summer but it never really gets hot there like it does here, so I decided to go hiking in the hills just outside Saint Petersburg, and really I don't know what possessed me to do that because I'm not really an athletic person. I could've stayed near the water like everyone else but anyway it was chilly and I was all bundled up but when I got to the top of this hill and looked out, the view...wow the view was totally worth it," he sighed, eyes misty as he reminisced. "The sun was just starting to set over the city, and all the lights were sparkling...it was magical. I took a photo, but nothing can beat the real thing."

"That sounds beautiful," Gen said quietly, trying to envision the view in her own mind. She'd never been to Russia outside of perfunctory visits, never had much of an interest in exploring, but he was changing her mind.

"It was," Lucas agreed, smiling into his glass as he watched the wine swirl. "I don't get to do landscapes much anymore. Just portraits."

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But then I think of all the opportunities waiting for me here and I remember that this is just another adventure. And who knows maybe one day I could photograph you."

"Maybe one day," Gen agreed. For a moment, her mind entertained the image of sitting down in a gilded chair and looking primly into Lucas' camera as he took her royal portrait, the image hung on the walls of Versailles for the rest of time. She would claim the place right next to Marie Antoinette. The thought caused her to reflexively reach for her throat, rubbing the unmarred skin just to ensure that it was still there. It was a sobering reminder of what was at stake, the lightheartedness of her "harmless" flirting slipping away as she reached for another sip of wine.

She couldn't help but notice it was the same shade as blood.

* * *

By the time dinner with Lucas was over, it was only nine o'clock. The night life in Paris was just starting up, and Gen could practically hear the beats from her favorite club calling her name. If it were any other night, she would already be gone, but now that the Selection had started, things like that were strictly frowned upon. She would have to find someone who liked going out, someone to have fun with so she could use a "date" as an excuse to party.

Her usual partner in crime, Beau, was currently occupied as well. Gen passed by his room, windows open to let in the nighttime air which also let in the sounds of the city. She was always jealous of the view from his room, how he had a much better look on things. Not that Paris was particularly close, but it was close enough to see the lights and the tip of the Tour Eiffel. Maybe that's how he got so many people to stay over; they came for the view and stayed for the sex.

"How was dinner?" Beau asked as he caught Gen standing in the doorway. "Cut it a little short I see."

"Things were getting too..." Gen trailed off, waving her hand as if that would jog her memory to lead her to the right word.

"Intimate?" Beau finished.

"If you put it like that, yeah," Gen sighed, walking into the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I don't want to be leading anyone on."

"It's a bit late for that Gen," Beau said, still preoccupied with his clothes. "You've already lured these poor saps here to play in the biggest joke of the century, might as well make their stays worthwhile before you humiliate them in front of the entire nation"

"You make me sounds like some heartless harpy."

"Aren't you?"

"Fuck off," Gen grumbled. What did her brother know anyway? He wouldn't know a proper relationship if it jumped up and bit him in the ass. Vain little prick, fussing over his wardrobe like some prima donna. "That reminds me, I saw Marcel walking back to your room earlier with two huge boxes. What the hell were you making him carry?"

"I had some new suits made for the Selection, to impress the boys and all..." Beau said, lovingly stroking a jacket made of crushed burgundy velvet. It wasn't even the most ostentatious piece of the bunch.

"You truly have no shame," Gen sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Don't I?" Beau taunted. He went over to place the jacket inside his closet, and even with the spacious walk in set up, Gen had no idea where he was going to fit all these new clothes. His closet was practically bursting at the seams, every rack packed with designer suits. It probably would have helped if he believed in wearing things more than once, but apparently when you are a trend-setter it was a sin to be seen wearing the same thing twice.

"You can't actually have my suitors," Gen called after him so that her brother could hear her from inside the closet.

"And why not?" he asked, resurfacing with more hangers.

"Because one, that would not make the royal family look very good and two, if Maman didn't kill you first, Heather would skin you alive."

Beau shivered. "That woman scares me."

"Yeah, so just think about that the next time you want to do something stupid."

Beau pouted and rolled his eyes, scooping up the rest of his suits and disappearing back into his wardrobe. Briefly, Gen wondered where Marcel was and why he wasn't doing this himself, but then she decided that she didn't want to know where her brother had sent his valet or what strange requests he was having him fulfill.

Gen highly doubted that her words would make an impact on her scheming brother. When Beau put his mind to something, there was no stopping him, an unfortunate trait that ran through the entire Schreave de Sauveterre family, including herself. He had put his mind to snagging a Selected, and so Gen would most likely be spending half her time trying to rip him away from the guys she was fake dating. Not that she cared if Beau actually wanted them; she didn't want them, she just didn't want the country thinking this Selection was a sham, which was exactly what it would look life if Beau got caught in bed with one. It wasn't that far fetched of an idea either, as she had already sensed that at least a couple of the guys weren't on the straight and narrow.

Getting up and leaving the room, Gen continued her path...to her room? To the club? She wasn't sure. It was way too early to turn in, even after killing some time in Beau's room. She wandered around a bit more, taking the long way around her house until she ended up down a hall adjacent to the guest wing where the Selected were staying. It was then when she heard music coming from one of the rooms - not a bedroom, but a sitting room at the end of the hall. Curious, she approached the room and snuck a glance inside.

It was Lucas - the other Lucas. He was seated at the baby grand in the corner, fingers gently caressing keys to produce a lovely melody. Gen felt captivated by the music, the emotions that ran through the piece. It had to be original to be played so personally, Lucas pouring his soul into every note. He wasn't even looking at the sheets he had open on the stand, a small black book with more sheet music poking out sitting on top an adjacent table. He knew every chord by heart, his fragile frame swaying in time to each movement.

When the piece finally finished, coming to a slow decrescendo, Lucas removed his fingers but left them hovering just over the keys, as if deciding whether to stop playing altogether or keep going. She had no idea how long he had been playing or how long she had been watching him. Gen wanted to applaud him, wanted to praise his performance, but she didn't want to startle him. It was clear this was a private show for one, and he had mentioned upon their meeting his dislike of audiences.

"That was lovely," she said, unable to stop her big mouth from running. That immediately drew his attention, blue eyes partly covered by strands of dark hair blown wide with a mix of surprise and panic. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, and Gen instantly felt badly for disrupting him. "Sorry I didn't mean to spy or anything. I know you said you don't like to perform for people but I was just walking by."

Now that she was here, there was no going back. The damage was done. So, she stepped into the room, approaching him slowly as not to scare him off.

"Can I sit here?" Gen asked, pointing to the empty space left on the bench. Lucas seemed wary, but nodded his consent. Gen didn't miss the way he stiffened when she encroached his space, so she tried her best to keep as much distance as the bench would allow. She wanted him to feel comfortable, but she also didn't want to fall off the edge.

Lucas was as high strung as the wires that held the keys in place, his body tensed with anticipation. Of what, Gen was not sure. He seemed so skittish, and made no move to say anything. It was clear that if this interaction were to go anywhere, Gen would need to do all the work.

She pressed a key idly, the note ringing through the space. She hit another, then another with no rhyme or reason other than because she could. Music has always been lost on her, an art that she did not inherit like the other members of her family. Both Delphine and Evangeline could play multiple instruments, Louis was currently taking lessons, and though he would never admit it openly, Beau had a wonderful singing voice. It was only Gen who sounded like a tone deaf walrus and played anything she touched just as horribly. Still, as the notes rang out in no particular pattern, the complimenting sounds clashing with dissonant chords, she felt a sense of longing for the skill, if only so she could use it in this one moment.

"My Mamé knew how to play the piano. Papa said she could make the most beautiful music in the world," Gen mused, fiddling with the keys. "She died before I got the chance to know her."

Lucas reached over and placed a hand tentatively on hers. His was warm and slightly clammy, but Gen didn't mind. It was a sweet gesture from someone who prized personal space. She smiled.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, growing flustered.

"It's not your fault," Gen said with a trace of laughter. "I'm almost glad she's not around to witness this. She'd be ashamed at the horrible musician I've become."

She continued to stare at the piano, unsure of what caused such melancholy memories to surface. Perhaps it was the hour, or the tiredness, or maybe the safe feeling she got being around Lucas, like he was really listening. Feelings like those were not ones she liked to voice, mostly because her siblings would give her hell for being so soft. Correction, _Beau and Delphine_ would give her hell. Her siblings...what a bunch of assholes.

Suddenly, she felt another hand touch hers, and when she looked up she found that Lucas had reached over.

"Place your fingers here, and here," Lucas instructed, guiding her hands to the correct position. Her hand immediately felt cramped, but she went along with it, her wrist bent at an awkward angle. She applied pressure, and the notes mixed and mingled perfectly. Gen smiled, and so did Lucas. "Move your pinky, and go again."

Her fingers were nearly thin and long enough for this, but Lucas didn't seem to mind. He seemed to have unlimited patience, waiting through multiple fumbles for her to play a correct chord. It was a miracle that the guards didn't come in to complain about the noise. Between their laughter and the horrid occasional slip ups, they were sure to have woken someone.

"This must be like teaching a child," Gen mused, having more fun than she expected.

"I've dealt with worse," Lucas assured gently.

"That is a very nice lie," Gen replied, laughing lightly through her words

Then, another kind of music filled the air, this time coming from the antique clock in the corner. Its ancient chimes struck twelve times, each with the same hollow soft sound. It sobered the easy atmosphere they had created, bringing them back into reality.

" _Il est minuit_ ," Gen said, watching the hour hand pass over the twelve. "Should probably get to bed."

"Yes...yes you're right," Lucas agreed, nodding along. " _Bonne nuit, Votre Altesse_."

"You're not coming?"

"Sorry, I'm used to staying up late," Lucas said, though he'd begun to fidget once more. "I'll just be a few more minutes. Don't worry about me."

There was something else he wasn't saying, but Gen didn't want to push. She'd already made so much progress breaking his walls down that she would hate to ruin it now.

"Okay, well, see you in the morning," Gen said with a smile, trying to reassure Lucas that everything was okay. "Thanks for showing me the ropes."

Lucas nodded rapidly, smiling as he watched her leave. She shut the door behind her this time, granting him the privacy he wanted this entire time before she barged in.

 _I live in a house of insomniacs,_ Gen thought to herself as she headed towards her room. Seriously, was she the only one who slept around here? Perhaps that was a sign that, even if she was straight, none of these boys were for her and she was better off alone. She loved sleep. Love love loved it. There was nothing better than climbing into her bed after a long day and wrapping herself in thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and downy comforter. Her bed was the best lover, the only one she both wanted and needed, and when she got to her room, kicked off her shoes and pulled off her dress, it welcomed her back with welcome arms, dragging her into a deep, blissful sleep.


	10. Raising the Barre

A/N: Thank you all for your continual support and kind words :)

* * *

Raising the Barre

Neelam Subramani was a strange creature.

She was her own brand of special, moods shifting from pensive to expressive to hyperactive in a second. To say she loved history was an understatement. She was way too excited about the tiniest things, from the books on the shelves to the portraits on the walls. Her sense of style was bizarre, a mix between traditional Indian one day to a pair of Versace pants and matching heels and blouse the next. There was no rhyme or reason to the jewels she wore, eastern jewels on her head and western ones on her wrists and fingers. She was a meeting of the worlds, a clash of cultures, and it worked for her.

All of that Gen could deal with. Gen could even deal with Neelam's constant barrage of questions and endless historical facts. What Gen could not deal with was the fact that Neelam had taken over the Hall of Mirrors for her afternoon ballet practices. A barre was set against the mirrored wall, a hundred Neelams stretching and twirling in unison. It made Gen's head hurt, and the music she played - covers of classical Mozart and Brahms - did nothing to help. It ruined Gen's routine, Neelam's presence ruining the sense of solitude while orchestral tracks drowned out the hum of the palace as the staff shuffled and bustled.

Despite this mild nuisance, Gen did her best to focus. She laid down on the wooden floors and stared up at the murals on the ceiling. Around her were files, the files she should have read about her Selected before they showed up at her house. Lucas Travert's was already set to the side, a green sticky note on top indicating that she had already gone through it. Not that she didn't believe his story, but one could never be too careful. It was all in there - the Russian father, traveling, photography, and his impressively athletic sisters.

One down, thirty-four to go.

She would have to date them all eventually, so, upon Heather's insistence, Gen needed to create a plan and she decided that this would be the best way to figure out who she wanted to date first. There were some files that promptly got sent to the bottom of the pile; in fact there were eight that she decided would be sent home at the soonest possible convenience (to the guards not to the boys) because it would be a cold day in hell before she went out with a man who had _six_ cats or another who was a professional _mime_. Her mother's ban against mass-elimination be damned, Gen would have her way on this one. Did her parents even screen these guys? Perhaps she should have been more involved in the logistics instead of running off to Illéa.

Regrets aside, there were ten guys who stood out, the cream of the crop so to speak. Lucas Travert was one of them, but there were others like Anatole, Dante, and Ulysse whose profiles glittered. They would make fabulous additions to the palace, however short their stays. Besides, the ten prospects on top seemed the most likely not to bore her to death. It might have been clinical to divvy up her suitors this way, but she had always been good at prioritizing...it's just sometimes her priorities were body shots, not dating.

Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 ended and Tchaikovsky took over in a storm of violins, reminding Gen once more that she was not alone. Neelam held her leg above her head in an impossible position. Gen cringed just looking at her.

"Can I help you with something?" Neelam asked passively, body leaning over the barre.

Gen hadn't realized she'd been staring.

"I'm wondering how you don't snap your back."

Neelam laughed under her breath. "Years of practice and discipline."

"Sounds fucking terrible."

Neelam laughed some more. "Yeah, it really was. But it paid off."

As if to demonstrate, Neelam bent so far back it was as if she had folded her body in two and spun on the tips of her toes, pink satin slippers gliding effortlessly across the floor. It was mesmerizing to watch in a disturbing kind of way. And Gen thought the leg thing was painful...

"So what, you want to be a ballerina or something?" Gen asked, though she honestly did not care what Neelam wanted to do with her life. No doubt, whatever the girl chose she would be perfect, passionate, and drive everyone around her fucking nuts, just like her mother.

"I can't decide," Neelam mused, reaching down to pick up her towel, dabbing her forehead gently. "Ballet is more a hobby. History is my passion. Though lawmaking has its perks as well, and I have family ties in India that can help me with that."

"Don't you think you're kinda young to be involved in politics?"

"Isn't that hypocritical coming from a twenty-two year old soon-to-be queen?" Neelam countered, brow raised in challenge.

"True. You've got me there," Gen admitted.

"Besides, Mom was a counselor-in-training in Illéa by the time she was fifteen. I'm behind the curve."

"Don't compare yourself to her," Gen waved the ridiculous thought away as if it were a pesky fly. "When it comes to Heather Bloomsdale, everyone is behind the curve."

Neelam nodded, but said no more. Gen didn't know if the girl was considering her words or simply thinking about something else. Whatever it was, Neelam looked much less playful than before, her sharp eyes surveying the ring of manilla folders on the ground. She sat next to Gen and picked one up, rifling through the papers.

"What's all this?"

"Nothing, just your mother driving me up a wall," Gen sighed, flinging one of the reject files across the hall, not caring where it landed. "How do you deal with her?"

"She wasn't always this bad."

"I find that hard to believe."

"I'm serious," Neelam laughed, walking over and lying down to join Gen on the floor. "The divorce has been hard on her, not that she'd ever show anyone. She feels like she's losing control, so she's overcompensating."

"Just a bit," Gen teased, squinting through pinched fingers. Neelam rolled her eyes, but they still held their humor.

"My father used to tell me stories about when they were younger. About parties where they would dance all night and she couldn't stop laughing. How her smile would outshine a hundred summer suns," Neelam said dreamily, staring at the murals on the ceiling as if they contained memories. "When he first met her, he tried to woo her by saying that her eyes were like sapphires."

"That's so cheesy," Gen chuckled. "Did it work?"

"Almost..." Neelam replied, a smile on her face. "It was so bad that she said she had to find out what possessed him to say it in the first place, and the rest is history. She gave him hell for it for the first three months they were dating. Then, of course, they used that awful pick up line to name me."

"How?"

"Neelam literally means 'blue sapphire'. Kind of redundant but at least there's a funny story behind it," Neelam said. Then her voice got quieter, as if she were putting long-festering, traitorous thoughts to words. "Sometimes I think they didn't want to get divorced...If they did, they'd be happier. But they're just so sad..."

Comforting had never really been Gen's thing. She always thought herself too emotionally detached to be of much help. But this was Neelam, and so Gen felt compelled to try.

"Hey, I can't really speak to your dad, but your mom seems like one complicated lady. I'm sure they had some pretty good reasons."

Neelam didn't say anything. Instead, she continued to look at the ceiling. Gen got the distinct feeling that this conversation had hit a nerve, a very sensitive one that Neelam no longer wished to talk about. That was another one of her quirks: she had no problem talking up a storm unless it was about her or her family. Then, she became one of the most quiet people in the world.

"Did you know that the original decorative plan was to cover the ceiling with images of Apollo, because, you know, he was the sun god and this was the palace of the Sun King? But that didn't work out because some other palace had that in the works, so Louis XIV just had the entire ceiling dedicated to himself instead."

"Surprisingly, I did know that," Gen chuckled. Neelam was deflecting, something Gen knew very well, so she didn't push. "Come on. I think we've fucked around long enough."

Gen sat up and pulled Neelam with her. They'd both wasted enough time. Gen had work to do, and Heather was bound to come looking for her daughter at some point. The last thing Gen wanted to do was get caught in a mother-daughter showdown, and something told her that Neelam and Heather's arguments were ones for the history books.

Unfortunately their good mood was ruined by the presence of an intruder. Normally, such intruders this far into the palace included Heather, Maman, or Papa. This time, however, the intruder was a Selected. Salvatore to be exact.

"Ladies!" his voice boomed across the hall.

Salvatore was dressed in slacks and a button down that was barely buttoned up, those that were buttoned straining to stay closed. He was trying too hard to be sexy. He might as well have plastered his intentions across his forehead. They would scream, _I'm here to get laid!_ And on most girls, Gen thought that his forward brand of cringe-worthy charm would work. Instead, it irritated her. The way he sauntered in the hall and interrupted them like he owned the place ground on Gen's nerves. Couldn't he see that she and Neelam were busy?

" _Votre Altesse_ ," Salvatore said in his long, drawn out accent, taking her hand to kiss. "May I say you look radiant this afternoon."

"Uh, thank you..." Gen trailed off, looking to Neelam for help, but all she did was shake her head like this wasn't her problem.

"And who are you?" Salvatore asked, following Gen's gaze to where Neelam stood. He gave her a once-over, not so subtly checking her out which made Gen irrationally angry that he had the gall to look at another, substantially younger girl while attending _her_ Selection.

Neelam only crossed her arms over her chest and stated, "Not interested."

"So feisty," Salvatore said amusedly, though Gen could see he was not used to rejection and it stung his pride. "You would fit right in in Italy."

"Uh-huh..." Neelam trailed off, not impressed by the flattery. She gathered her water bottle and her towel and started walking away. "I'll leave you two to it."

Gen glared at Neelam, cursing the girl for leaving her alone to deal with her problems. The nerve! Now she had no excuse to leave, no one on which to blame her sudden urge to flee. If she were out on the two, usually this was the part of the night where she got Beau to call her with an 'emergency' to extract her from an awkward situation. But her phone was in her pocket and Beau would only make things worse. Gen was undoubtedly stuck with Salvatore, and suddenly the appeal to throw herself out the window became so much greater.

"Have you ever been to Italy?" Gen asked, forcing herself to make small talk. At least it kept him from staring at her like she was something to eat.

"Every summer since I was five," he replied proudly, puffing out his chest as if traveling to another country was an achievement.

"And I'm guessing you have family there?"

"My Nana and all the Esposito cousins," Salvatore explained, something wistful in his eye. "My parents were the only ones to move away. It broke their hearts."

Gen tried to muster sympathy, but she just couldn't. It wasn't like France and Italy were far...or enemies. Borders were quite open. Travel was not a hardship, at least not for a guy with very expensive taste in clothes. The cost of his shoes alone would be enough to cover a first class ticket.

"Don't you ever...I don't know...want to move back?" Gen suggested not-so-subtly.

 _Dieu_ , Gen wished he did so she could send him home out of practicality. The Queen of France could not marry someone who resided in a country other than hers. It was law. If Salvatore decided today to get on the boat to Sicily, Gen would pay for his fare.

"Does the princess not want me to stay?" Salvatore asked, affronted.

 _Oui._

" _Non_ ," Gen assured even though it was a lie. "It's just, you seem so sad when you talk about Italy. I don't want you to be miserable here."

"Princess, how could I ever be sad when I can bask in your heavenly beauty?" he said, taking Gen's hand and holding it to his chest.

 _Was this guy for real?_

"That's...so sweet of you Salvatore..." Gen trailed off, very uncomfortable.

"If she thinks this way, then why has _Votre Altesse_ not accepted my invitation to dinner?" he asked, his eyes shining with hurt. His violent emotions were giving her whiplash, and the way he talked about her in the third person to her face was strange. Stranger still was his gall to continue with, "I saw you choose that other man over me last night."

"Uhhh..."

Gen's brain short-circuited. Out of all the things she expected from this Selection - from Beau's scheming to breaking hearts - she did not expect this. She did not expect the weirdly intense competition between guys to develop so quickly, and even more alarmingly, reach her in the course of one night. _Une nuit_. It had only been a little over twelve hours since her date with Lucas and already Salvatore was hounding her about it. Were his pride and ego really so fragile that he needed to seek validation as to why Gen did not respond to his informal request to dinner? She thought they were just flirting, as one-sided and alarming as it had been. The request was banter upon first meeting, nothing of substance and certainly not a proposition befitting a princess. The entire scenario was absurd, but there was Salvatore, taking everything personally.

"Tell me, what does he have that I do not?" Salvatore insisted rather desperately, holding Gen's hand hostage until she gave him some answer. "Blond hair and pale skin are no comparison to my Italian blood, and I am far more physically fit so tell me - did he do something? Say something? Tell me what speaks to your soul and I shall give it to you."

"While I appreciate the sentiment, it wasn't like that," Gen insisted, trying to twist away, but Salvatore's grip was stronger, keeping her in place. "Lucas brought me flowers. He was kind. I wanted to thank him. End of story."

"Flowers! Of course!" Salvatore exclaimed, releasing Gen's hand to pull at his hair. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Stupid?"

Gen watched Salvatore pace between the mirrors, his reflections showing some kind of newfound mania. She wondered if he had truly lost it. There was a moment where she seriously considered calling the guards in to escort Salvatore out. When he looked up at her, his eyes were alit and unfocused as if he were seeing the room completely differently.

"Princess, I shall decorate these halls in all the flowers your heart desires!" he proclaimed, arms spread out as he envisioned his plan coming to fruition.

"That really isn't necessary..."

"Oh, but I insist!"

"I really wish you wouldn't."

"Nonsense," Salvatore dismissed, not requiring her opinion any longer. "I shall decorate this palace in so many flowers that it will bring the great Gardens of Versailles to shame."

"Salvatore, I don't want your flowers," Gen said bluntly, and quite harshly if she were being honest. But she was tired of his shit, and just tired in general, and being nice to annoying suitors was not high on her list of priorities. "If I see one petal in this hall I will scream."

"Ah, I see...playing hard to get?" he said slyly, and honestly Gen had no idea why he couldn't take a hint. Salvatore winked and started backwards out the door, a grin on his face that looked as if they were sharing a secret. "I understand, and I'll play along for now, princess. But be warned, I will win this game of ours in the end, and your heart will be mine."

With one last kiss to her knuckles, Salvatore released her of his exhaustive presence. He sauntered away like a man with a plan, head held tall and chest puffed out with pride. It was ridiculous. His ego must have been the size of the entire continent if he thought that, after all this, Gen actually craved his attention. Playing hard to get, her ass! She wanted to make him a giant neon sign that said "fuck off" but she knew that would not be in good taste. If only he were another creep at the nightclub...then she could punch him in the face and not feel bad about it. Maybe she already had in the past and didn't remember. She had done a lot of club punching in her life.

How the hell did he even get this far into the palace anyway? This hall was directly linked to the royal chambers; coming through was like an invasion of privacy, and Gen swore Heather gave all the guys a strict set of rules by which to abide; creeping on the royal family was probably pretty high up there on the list of things _not_ to do. Perhaps Gen would have to get more guards to stand at the entrance and turn away unsavory visitors. Of course, that came with the setback of a lack of privacy, which was the whole point of her coming here in the first place...but then again Neelam already ruined that so why not add more obstacles? Soon there would be nothing sacred about her house, no safe spaces, and considering how vast the palace was, that was just sad.

As if to justify this need for restriction, another figure came into view, this one familiar and much more welcome even though he was a moody vision in black.

"You okay?" Arlo asked, and if Gen didn't know him, she would have thought him genuinely concerned. "With all the shouting and declarations of love, it sounded like a soap opera in here."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Gen dismissed, though Salvatore had left her a smashing headache in his wake. "Were you spying on me?"

"No," Arlo denied. "I heard yelling, came to check it out. Think some guards were right behind me."

"Great," Gen grumbled, pinching her nose. This was the one and only time she wished Henri had been around. Then she could have had him drop kick Salvatore's overly confident ass into next week.

"That guy's a dick," Arlo said, nodding at the place Salvatore previously stood. "Him and Lochan could have a contest to see who would win biggest asshole."

"It's a little early to start making enemies," Gen sighed, though a small part of her was hopeful that the guys would get each other kicked out for fighting or sabotage. It seemed so much more appealing to let their fragile senses of masculinity do all the hard work for her.

"You don't seem too concerned that it's been all of twenty-four hours and some of us can't stand each other."

"My only brother besides the five year old is gay. I'm not exactly an expert on typical male behavior," Gen replied, earning a smirk from Arlo. "Besides, you're the kind of person who hates everyone. For all I know, everything could be sunshine and roses."

"Fair. I'll give you that."

Arlo slumped up against one of the mirrors, unaffected by the smudges he was creating on the pristine glass. He looked at the ceilings much less appreciatively than Neelam had; she was willing to bet that he didn't know the _fascinating_ history behind those murals. Instead, he pulled a cookie out of the pack under his arm and chewed.

"Found your way back to the kitchens I see," Gen noted, pointing to the mini stash of sweets. "Do you eat anything besides cookies?"

"No," Arlo replied, and popped one in his mouth for emphasis. On second look, Gen noticed not only had he taken cookies, but there was also a pack of assorted macarons and a caramel tin. It was disgusting that he ate all those sweets and didn't blow up like a balloon.

"I hope you get fat," Gen said, covering a smirk while Arlo looked offended. A few crumbs fell out of the corners of his mouth.

"Is this how you treat all your friends? By insulting them?"

"Isn't this how you treat yours?" Gen countered.

"Whatever princess," was all Gen got in return, Arlo slinking out the hall the same way he came.

Gen stifled a smirk. No matter that rough exterior, Gen knew Arlo was beginning to care. All that leather and black and brood but yet he had a heart after all. She didn't know why that gave her such satisfaction.

Sighing, her attention returned to the problem at hand: too many boys, too little time, and too little motivation. It was as daunting a task after the interruption as before. However, she knew one thing that would make this process run a little easier.

Gen dug out Salvatore's file and threw it with the rejects.


	11. Crazy Runs in the Family

Crazy Runs in the Family

It had been a few days since Gen had made her file system, and so far it had been going well.

Almost all of the unwanted Selected had been sent home save for the few she had yet to get to. Unfortunately, that included Salvatore. She had wanted to get rid of him first, but he had apparently already created connections with her mother and father, which made him trickier to deal with. Since they knew his name and face - and presumably fell for his ass-kissing - she would have to make up a real excuse to kick him out, not just that he had bad morning breath or didn't respect Beau's presence in the Selection.

Plotting the downfall of her suitors was _exhausting_. Really, she had no idea how much effort went into plotting. How people dedicated their entire lives to revenge plots without falling apart she had no clue. Maybe that was why they all ended up being lunatics; the sleep depravation had starved their brains of oxygen and all common sense.

She was flipping through her latest file when a commotion drew her attention toward the other end of the hall.

"Hey Gen! Wait up!" Hugo called, jogging to catch up to her.

Breakfast had just ended, which meant that the Selected were supposed to be headed towards whatever organized activity was planned to entertain them today. She should not be seeing one running after her in the complete opposite direction from the rest of the group.

"What's up boys?" Gen asked as she noticed that he was not alone. Anatole and Sébastien had also tagged along. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah fine," Hugo shrugged, trying his best to play it cool.

"We just have a question for you," Anatole supplied, not wanting to beat around the bush like his other two companions. He took command of the situation, stepping in front of Hugo so he had her full attention.

"Shoot."

"Do you like movies?"

"Do I like movies?" Gen repeated, not getting the point. "Yeah, why?"

"Would you want to watch some movies with us?"

Anatole seemed so serious, giving nothing away. But Hugo had his hands shoved in his pockets, the tiniest cracks of insecurity peeking through his blasé expression and Sébastien looked like he might faint. Then, the pieces clicked, and she took a step back to process.

"Are you asking me on a date?" Gen asked, staring between the now-awkward guys. "All three of you?"

"Yeah I guess we are," Anatole shrugged with a half-smile. She remembered reading on his file that he was a medical resident. She wondered if that's where he got all his forwardness from. "So are you interested?"

"Yeah," Gen said, finding herself actually looking forward to the event. "Yeah I'm interested."

"Great," he replied, his smile growing just the slightest bit smug at his success.

"When is this movie date going down?"

"Tonight?" Hugo suggested. The final say was up to her. Any time worked for them; it's not like they had anything else to do.

"Tonight is great. I'll clear my schedule," Gen said, looking down at the file in her hands as if were an itinerary and not her diabolical plot to get rid of them all. "Oh, and I'll have to bring my bodyguard. Parents' rules, not mine. Hope you don't mind."

"Not a problem," Hugo spoke with finality.

With a nod of her head, the date was a done deal.

It was only after Hugo and Anatole sauntered away that Gen realized Sébastien had stayed behind. He hadn't said a single word during the entire exchange, choosing to sit in the background and let the others do the talking. She wasn't surprised he had paired off with Anatole. They were both aspiring doctors, both sharing common interests. She wondered if he actually spoke to his newfound friend or just nodded along with everything the other guys said.

"That's pretty bold of you, asking me out," Gen commented, teasing softly. "Technically I'm the one who's supposed to be doing the asking."

"We know but, it's just that you, uh, haven't been doing much of that yet so we decided to try our luck..." Sébastien explained, getting flustered. It was almost like he was uncomfortable being around her, like he would rather fade into the background.

"Well, it paid off," Gen said softly.

He smiled briefly and nodded, his cheeks flaring a pink color. It was becoming evident that he was shy, though not to the extent of Lucas, but enough so that it prevented him from talking to her. Not that it mattered. They didn't have much time for chit-chat when another familiar face came into view.

"Finally! I found you," Beau sighed dramatically as he neared. When he got sight of Sébastien, Beau immediately took on a much more confident swagger, leaning up against Gen as he winked and said, "Hey cutie."

Sébastien flushed, completely bewildered as to what was going on. Gen could have murdered Beau on the spot.

"Beau," she greeted through clenched teeth to stop herself from shouting. "What are you doing here?"

"Grandmère has requested an audience with the entire family."

"She never comes out of her cave," Gen replied, confused. Was he pranking her? Trying to distract her while he stole one of the Selected from under her nose? She wouldn't put it past him. But Beau looked serious, slightly worried and surprised himself.

"That's what I said, but she's on her way to the foyer as we speak so, as tragic as it is to part with someone so pretty, let's get a move on."

"I'll be right there," Gen said, prying her brother's fingers from her arm as she shoved him not so gently towards the end of the hall. He did not like being pushed around, or being left out, pouting in the face of his rejection. Not surprisingly, Gen could not muster a single ounce of sympathy.

"I am so sorry about my brother. One day I will kill him," she apologized to Sébastien.

"He's fine," Sébastien assured, all signs of embarrassment nearly gone.

"Good to know we haven't scared you away just yet," Gen replied with a smile, all the while wondering why the words she chose sounded like she wanted him to stay. "I'll catch you later for the movies, yeah?"

He nodded and Gen took that as her cue to leave. Beau was waiting for her at the mouth of the hall, the pair turning left towards the queen's private chambers. In actuality, her chambers consisted of an entire wing reserved for the monarch, positioned right off of the Hall of Mirrors complete with a library, foyer, and multiple bedrooms and bathrooms no one else was allowed to touch. Really, it was greedy. The old woman could hide out for days without anyone hearing from her, and she frequently did. Gen hadn't seen her since before her birthday, and they lived in the same house.

The rest of the Schreave de Sauveterre family had already gathered in the vast sitting room. Maman and Papa were sitting in chairs adjacent to one another. Louis was on the carpet, coloring in pictures in a book at Maman's feet while Evangeline read a book at one end of the long sofa while Delphine looked bored at the other end, hands folded across her lap and ankles crossed primly. Gen took a spot on the available love seat while Beau perched himself on its arm, not bothering to sit properly. Both Maman and Delphine glared at him, but Beau remained where he was. Grandmére already hated him, so Gen supposed he didn't give a fuck what the old woman thought.

There was only one seat left open: a golden, regal, high-backed chair covered in navy blue velvet. A chair fit for a queen. A chair directly across from the one Gen chose. Suddenly, she had the urge to push Evangeline over to make more room for herself.

A guard at the door banged his staff as he announced, "All rise for _Votre Majesté, la reine Daphne_."

Everyone stood as the doors on the other side opened - the side that connected to her rooms - and Grandmère came escorted out by two valets, one on either side of her. She seemed so much older, so much more haggard than the last time Gen saw her. She was only in her sixties yet Grandmère easily could have passed as eighty. Her skin was wrinkled, blonde hair nearly white and kept pulled tightly in a bun, a crown of sapphires and diamonds weighing down her oversized head. She moved slowly, careful not to trip on the edges of her floor length dress. Why she insisted on dressing so formally, Gen had no idea. It seemed pompous. When Gen was queen, it was going to be jeans all day every day. Jeans and sweatshirts.

Once Grandmère was seated in her fancy chair, everyone was allowed to sit back down. She seemed discontent, thin lips curled in distaste, as if something in room offended her.

" _Bon matin, Mère,_ " Maman greeted, though the old woman seemed less than pleased to be there. " _Comment allez-vous?_ "

"I've been better," she grumbled.

"Sorry to hear it," Maman continued cordially, though Gen could tell her patience was being tested. "May I ask why you called us all here?"

"Yes, yes," she replied irritatedly, waving away Maman's inquiry as if it were an annoying fly. "I have called this meeting to discuss the order of succession, and to express my deep disappointment in the turn of events this country has taken as of late."

"I'm sorry, Mère, I don't follow," Maman said as civilly as she could, but Gen saw her mother's knuckles whitening as she gripped the fabric of her dress.

"Don't play coy with me! I am talking about this _Selection_ ," Grandmère snapped, spitting out the word as if it were some foul, dirty thing. "We are _French_ , Camille. What _were_ you thinking?"

"I was thinking that this country needs an heir," Maman replied cooly while Gen prepped for a fight. This was headed into dangerous territory, and the last thing she wanted was to be pulled in unprepared.

"It has one. You."

"You know as well as I that the people do not want me. They want Gen."

" _Bah_ ," Grandmère sneered. "Geneviève is a child. What does she know about ruling?"

"I've been working by yours and Maman's sides since I was thirteen. I am prepared to rule when the time comes," Gen defended, surprised at her own conviction. Normally she would say something about how scared she would be to have the fate of an entire nation in her hands. Normally she would be freaking out, doubting herself despite her training. But when she stared into Grandmère's eyes, she discovered she had much more confidence than she realized.

" _Je te vois_ ," Grandmère said with eyes narrowed in suspicion, pointing a bony finger in Gen's direction. "Don't think your antics have gone unnoticed. Your trips to the city, unescorted in the middle of the night scattered across the tabloids like common trash. And now you've filled my home with them? No, I think not. Your sister is far more suited to the role, and she's barely a woman!"

Delphine preened at the praise, sitting up a bit straighter. Gen fought the urge to gag. She could see that comment already inflating her sister's ego to double the size it used to be. She'd be hearing about this until the end of time.

"Mère, if you would just consider the Selection as an asset..." Camille started, biting down on her lip. "If you were to meet these young men you would realize that - "

"I have seen enough!" she decreed, slamming one hand down on the arm of her chair as she turned her wrath on Maman. "Do not think you are forgiven. Going behind my back, signing my name to this abomination, it's treason!"

"Daphne, please, be reasonable," Papa insisted, looking troubled by the way things were escalating, though not surprised. Gen wondered how many of these arguments they'd had.

"Do not lecture me on my decisions. _You_ were the one who gave _me_ the right to act in your place," Maman said calmly, though there was an unfriendly edge to her voice that shocked Gen. Grandmère held Maman's gaze, as if the two were locked into some sort of silent battle of wills. "When you became sick, you entrusted me with the seal of office. You signed away your right to rule in front of your daughter, in front of your council, and in front of Dieu. You are Queen of France in nothing but name."

The tension in the room was palpable. A power play had been dealt, and the power pulled in favor of Maman. Everyone in the room, including the guards pretending horribly not to notice, held their breath for what happened next.

"My own daughter, against me..." Grandmère sneered, though she seemed amused.

Maman's face crumpled, something dark and weary washing over her. "You are not well, Mère. Perhaps you should go back to bed."

It was an order, not a request. No one spoke a word as the valets came back over, ready to escort Grandmère back to her rooms. Thankfully, the old woman complied, slowly rising from her chair and hobbling away, muttering curses under her breath the entire time. It was a short family meeting, one of the briefest Gen and ever attended, but the most loaded. Her head was swimming with so many questions that they pounded against her temples in demand to be set free.

"That was thoroughly awkward," Beau broke the tension, running a hand through his hair nervously. "She seems lovely as ever."

"Maman what the hell was that all about?" Gen asked, in desperate need of some explanation for the nightmare she just watched.

"Nothing Gen, nothing," Maman dismissed, though she had two fingers pinching the bridge of her nose and Papa rubbing comforting circles on her back, both indicators that this was not simply _nothing_.

"But she was talking about the Selection - and succession!" Gen protested, not willing to let this go. "If there is something going on with the line of succession I should be the first person to know about it! You should have told me!"

"It's clear that Grandmère thinks that I am the most suitable choice for the throne. Shouldn't the opinion of the current reigning monarch carry some weight?" Delphine asserted impetuously, cocking her head to the side and smiling as if her interrupting was cute.

"You're all of sixteen years old, sit your ass down," Gen snapped, fed up with her sister's antics for the day.

Delphine looked scandalized.

"Age aside, I would say I take this job much more seriously than you do," the younger girl retorted. "Grandmère is right. Who wants a drunken, irresponsible party girl to rule an entire nation?"

"I'm doing my job just fine Delphi. I'm going through a Selection, I've been shadowing Grandmère and Maman for years. What have you been doing? Filing your nails and needlepoint while bitching about me?" Gen asked, her patience at an end. Delphine didn't say anything, her face growing beet red while the rest of the people in the room looked on with bated breath. "I thought so. Next time you come at me, get your facts straight."

"Delphine, darling, I think it's best if you go back to your room as well," Maman cut in, trying to avoid any physical altercations that could arise. Which was good, because Gen was seconds away from dragging her sister outside and ripping out a chunk of that obnoxiously red hair. "Actually, your father and I would like to speak to Gen alone, if the rest of you don't mind."

Evangeline got up from the couch, shutting her book and going to gather Louis and his things from off the floor. She was so good with him, even better than the nannies at getting the rambunctious boy to follow orders. She led him by the hand out the door, Delphine reluctantly following suit as she cast death glares at Gen the entire way. Beau was the only one who lingered, looking curiously between Gen and their parents. He gave Gen a look that told her that he wanted to know the details later, and she subtly nodded her head.

The doors closed, leaving Gen alone with her parents. The first thing Maman did was call for a tray of tea, the same thing she always did when she was stressed and needed to unwind. Gen allowed her mother a minute of peace before taking a stand.

"You seriously need to do something about her," Gen said, hands on her hips as she confronted her mother. "I don't know why, but that girl hates me and I can't take it anymore."

"Don't be dramatic."

"You witnessed that with your own eyes," Gen challenged. "Delphine wants the throne, _badly_. If this were the eighteenth century she would have already had my head chopped off."

"She'll have to get over it," Maman shrugged. "There is nothing she can do. The throne is legally yours and nothing can change that unless you were to kill someone or abdicate."

 _Or be gay,_ Gen thought darkly to herself. Not that Delphine knew that. No one knew except Beau, and _Dieu_ -willing she was going to keep it that way.

"I don't think she's the kind to just 'get over it'," Gen insisted. Her mother never had any siblings; she didn't understand what it was like to have constant competition (if she could even call Delphine that) breathing down her neck, scrutinizing her every move. It was exhausting. More than that, it was enough to drive Gen insane. "Could you talk to her, tell her to let go of her grudge? She listens to you."

"I'll see what I can do," Maman agreed. "But whatever is going on between you two, eventually you'll need to work it out. You're sisters. Family is all we have in this world."

Gen didn't have the heart to tell her mother that Delphine hardly considered her family. More like an obstacle. But that would only draw out this already asinine conversation since obviously her mother was not willing to help in the way Gen wanted. Maman was an only child; it's not like she had any experience dealing with siblings. Papa would be more sympathetic, though Delphine would be less inclined to listen to him than Maman. Perhaps Gen would try him next.

The tea tray came and Maman latched onto it like a lifeline, the pot barely on the table before she was scooping it up and pouring herself a steaming cup.

"Now, switching gears, we have to start thinking logistically," Maman continued, busying herself with the sugar. "Though your Grandmère isn't that old, her illness is worse than we've let the public, and you children, know."

"Obviously," Gen agreed, thinking back on how frail she had looked. "How bad is she?"

"In order ease the public mind and keep up with appearances, our physicians advised to pursue a less aggressive course of treatment, and she agreed. They said cases like hers were likely to clear up but...that wasn't the case. The cancer has spread to her brain. It's why her memory hasn't been as good and her behavior has been altered these past few months."

"Holy shit..." Gen gasped, feeling a sense of dread and guilt pool in her stomach. "And here I thought she was just being a crazy old bitch."

"Well, that might have been part of it," her mother said rather offhandedly as she sipped her tea. "But there is a tennis ball sized tumor sitting in her head, and it's not likely to get any smaller."

"How long does she have?"

"A few months at most, more likely weeks," Papa said solemnly, the weight of the situation setting in. "Now you know why we have been pushing this Selection so hard. Our advisors have been asking about contingency plans and who will be named Daphne's successor."

"We need to start planning a coronation, as well as a funeral. One will have to happen right after the other in order to ensure a seamless transition of power," Maman continued, pushing papers distractedly around the coffee table as if a death in the family were business as usual.

"Maman, isn't this...weird for you?"

"How so?"

"You're talking about Grandmère as if she is already dead and she's right down the hall. Isn't that upsetting?"

"Of course it's upsetting," Maman replied, her lips pinched and expression weary. "But that woman...she's not my mother. She hasn't been my mother in a very long time. Now it is my duty as next in line to make sure that the country comes first."

It was still bizarre to Gen. No matter how much her mother may deny it, there was no way she was as calm and collected on the inside as she showed on the out. Gen wasn't even that close to Grandmère and this was messing her up. If the roles were reversed and this was Maman in Grandmère's place, Gen didn't know if she would be able to function.

"Why does she hate the Selection so much?" Gen inquired, wondering why she had such a violent reaction to it. It wasn't like she had any personal experience in one, nothing concrete on which to base such a strong opinion.

"Ancient history," Maman sighed, glancing to Papa briefly. "She used to be in love with your Grandpère Maxon."

"What?" Gen asked, the idea completely preposterous. She could not believe her ears. No! Her parents had to be making this up.

"They were childhood friends, but he rejected her advances because he was to have a Selection instead. She did not take it well," Maman explained. "Even when he chose your Mamé America, she was still reeling from the heartbreak so much so that she refused to attend the wedding and chose to spite America every chance she got."

"How mature," Gen muttered.

"One sided love can be a terrible thing," Maman lamented, stirring her cup of tea with a spoon.

"Wait...if she hated Mamé America so much, then why did she let you two get married?"

"If I recall, on our first anniversary she called it a lapse in judgement," Papa quipped, smiling as he took a sip from his tea.

"Stop," Maman chided him gently, though she was smiling as well. "Your Grandmère is not completely heartless. I think she saw the love between your father and I and respected our wish to marry."

"No, I think she wanted to live vicariously through us," Papa interjected. "Those first six months after we eloped she tried on more than ten separate occasions to get my father to come visit us in France in the hopes of spiriting him away. The only thing stopping him was my mother's heart attack. It brought them closer than ever - if that were even possible - and all Daphne's fantasies were ruined."

"But she was married to Grandpère," Gen said, confused. The man had died when she was a few years old from natural causes, but her parents were talking about events that happened well into the heart of her grandparents' marriage.

"She had a hard time letting go," Maman replied simply, as if that explained the layers of crazy.

"Your mother was a piece of work," Papa added.

"She still is."

"Okay, but it's clear she doesn't approve of our choices," Gen pointed out, frustrated at how her parents were being so nonchalant about this. "How am I supposed to go on with the Selection knowing that the reigning monarch is against it? What would the people think?"

Part of Gen hoped that Grandmère's rejection would mean an end to this pointless Selection, but she knew better by this point. She was stuck in this Selection, royal approval or not.

"Give it a few hours," Maman said, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. "By nightfall she won't even remember having this conversation."

"Does this...does this kind of thing happen often?" Gen asked, sketched out that she was the only one freaking out about this. "You're acting like this happens all the time."

"At least three times a week, on a good one," Papa sighed. "Don't worry Gen. We have it handled."

Maman waved the attendant in, his arms loaded with more papers and files flagged for signature. The royal blue box with a fleur de lis sat on top the stack: the royal documents. Only the Queen of France should have access to that box, but the attendant handed it over without batting an eye, as if he'd done it dozens of times before. Gen thought back to how her mother had said that Grandmère had signed over her rights to rule; it must have been more rights than Gen realized.

Grandmère was truly a figurehead. For all intents and purposes, her mother was Queen of France. From the looks of things, she had been for a long time.

"You told me you couldn't change the law," Gen remembered, pieces of memories from that breakfast a few weeks ago floating back.

"What?" her mother asked, confused.

"When I asked you about changing the law so that I could rule on my own, you said Grandmère was the one with that power, but that's not true. You do have that power. The seal of office gives you that power," Gen said, looking hurt. "You lied to me."

"I did not lie to you," Maman replied, a sharp edge to her voice. "The seal of office gives me special rights and privileges but I cannot use most of them because the people cannot be permitted to know about the illness. Signing her name to documents is one thing, but if the public got word of my intervention they would question every decision she has made throughout her entire tenure. This is about protecting your Grandmère's legacy and I will not take drastic legal action in her last few months. Do you understand me?"

All Gen could do was nod. Things were so much more complicated than she originally thought. There were so many more strings, so many more hoops. In one conversation, everything she knew about the people she was supposed to know best changed.

"Honestly Gen, I thought you were past this," Maman chided, looking disappointed.

Gen got up from her seat. If she remained in that room any longer, she was either going to be sick or say something she'd regret.

"I have to go," she excused herself, already walking towards the door. "I've got a date to prepare for."

It was impolite to leave without being dismissed, but Gen didn't care. Maman didn't call after her, nor did Papa implore her to stay. Beau's ear was pressed to the door, spying on their conversation. From the looks of things, he didn't get the full story and looked to her for answers, but Gen kept moving past. She had not answers to give, none that made any sense. She was still processing everything herself.

Grandmère was dying, Maman held the power, and Gen was just a puppet on a string.


	12. Love Is a Battlefield

A/N: Hello wonderful people! I'm trying to put Gen's family drama on the back burner now and focus on the guys more - dates and the like. As I started planning out all the things I wanted to have happen, I realized that this story is going to be a lot longer than I expected, oops! Not as long as TBaH (that was just insanity) but a significant length. Kinda scared me a little, but I hope you guys are in it for the long haul haha! Hope you all enjoy this new chapter, and thank you for all your support!

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Love is a Battlefield 

Gen was preoccupied at dinner.

She hadn't spoken to Maman since the family meeting from hell; not like she noticed with her own nose stuck in dossiers. Gen hadn't really spoken to anyone since the meeting. Instead, she holed herself up in her room for the rest of the afternoon and stared at the ceiling. Elyan was worried; she had never seen Gen sit in one place for so long outside of the Hall of Mirrors. The maid had resorted to stress-cleaning, and Gen had half a mind to get Henri to gently escort her out. It wasn't until she realized that Elyan and Henri in the same room would cause another catastrophic meltdown, and that was too much drama to deal with for one day. So, she sucked it up and let Elyan fluff all the pillows and pick lint off the pants she was still wearing until she was called down for dinner.

It was one of her favorites: filet mignon with scalloped potatoes and buttered string beans but she barely picked at her food. Instead, she poured her attention into Tante Eadlyn's sketch book bedside her plate, flipping the pages carefully as not to get grease on the delicate designs.

Out of all the things to focus on, Gen picked the coronation over the funeral. It was a happier event than the death of a family member, and even though Grandmère was a bitch extraordinaire, Gen could remember a time when the old woman was actually fun to be around. There were many instances where a five-year-old Gen would run up to her Grandmère and beg to sit on her lap while she held court, and then Grandmère would always let her sneak a candy from her fancy tin when no one was looking. It was the little things that Gen forgot as she got older that made this whole process more bittersweet.

No one minded that she wasn't talking. The Selected were more than capable of entertaining themselves. Most of the time, Gen had no idea what the hell they were talking about anyway.

A lot of the guys had developed cliques or a core group of friends, which Gen supposed was a good thing. At least they didn't have to rely on her for constant companionship. Still, sometimes it felt like she wasn't even needed, like she was the stranger and they were the ones at home. As if to drive the point home, Gen looked up to find Dante currently engaged in conversation with two other Selected and her _father_ about some sport she'd never paid attention to, but they all paid rapt attention as Dante told his story animatedly, then broke out into laughter afterwards.

 _Dante is so pretty when he laughs_ , Gen thought wistfully before shaking her head of the ridiculous notion and averting her gaze to the other side of the table.

Anatole and Sébastien were talking quietly to themselves - maybe about the movie date tonight, but Hugo was busy talking up Ulysse at the opposite end so maybe not. Lochan talked to no one, rebuffing every attempt at camaraderie while eating his steak with impeccable manners; he even seemed to have Delphine impressed, her critical eyes judging everyone negatively except for him. Of course the two assholes would respect one another. Lucas Travert kept looking Gen's way, blushing whenever she caught him, and a sinking feeling reached her gut when she realized that he was probably developing feelings for her. It only made her look away quicker.

Lucas Aubry was seated closest to Gen. Actually, he was seated next to Evangeline who was next to Delphine who was next to Gen. Evangeline was reading a book (shocking) while Delphine stabbed at her filet as if it had personally offended her. It was clear that Delphine did not like sharing her meals with total strangers, but it had been a few days now. She would have to get over it. Perhaps she could take some pointers from Evangeline, who was unbothered as ever, content to shut out the world in favor of her literary one.

Shut out the world until someone else came knocking.

"What are you reading?" Lucas Aubry asked her in his reserved, timid tone.

Evangeline looked up from the pages, shocked that anyone was actually speaking to her. Gen knew that her sister was used to being pushed into the background; after all, she was the sibling that required the least amount of attention between Beau's antics, Delphine's commanding attitude, Louis' precociousness, and Gen's own self-importance. Gen always felt bad leaving Vange out, so she was glad someone was giving her attention...even if it was from someone even quieter than she was.

"A Wrinkle in Time," Evangeline replied, lowering the book to her lap. "Have you read it?"

Lucas shook his head no, and Evangeline beamed.

She always got animated talking about books. They were her one true passion, the only things that brought her out of her shell. She could go on and on for hours about her favorite novels. Lucas was truly in for it now.

"It's one of my favorites," she gushed, and Lucas actually smiled at her enthusiasm. "It starts with this peculiar young girl who wants to rescue her father from - "

"Ahem," Delphine cleared her throat and not-so-subtly elbowed her twin in the side. "Control yourself, Evangeline. It's unladylike to fraternize with Gen's suitors. You know better."

Evangeline's cheeks flushed and she nodded, agreeing with her twin even though Gen could tell that she was not very happy about being shut up. Gen felt anger rising. Vange was just as capable of making her own decisions as Delphi; Vange wasn't Delphi's child to boss around. Strange, and infuriating, that Maman had failed to see any of it go down, her nose tucked into today's agenda. Stranger still was the way that Lucas kept peeking over at Vange even after she had returned to reading quietly, and how Vange kept peeking back.

Dinner was coming to a close. Some of the guys had already finished their meal and were filling out. Maman had already dismissed herself without anyone's knowing. Delphine was quick to get up as soon as she saw everyone else leaving, pulling Evangeline up with her even though it was clear she did not wish to be disturbed and lose her place. Lucas almost looked disappointed.

Merlin was sitting across from Gen, casting glances to the sketchbook every so often. It was obvious he was curious, but every time Gen caught him looking, he pointedly turned his gaze away, putting on an indifferent exterior. Gen wondered why he was being so aloof. If he was interested in the sketches, she would be more than happy to share them. After all, he was a model. Perhaps he could offer some much-needed advice.

"Hey, can I ask your opinion?" Gen asked, and Merlin shrugged indifferently. Gen held up the sketchbook, flipping between two very different designs, both of which she loved. "What do you think?"

"Think about what?" Merlin asked, confused as he looked at the sketchbook.

"Which one do you think would look better?"

"Why ask me?"

"Because you're a model...and you're in the fashion industry..." Gen trailed off, as if it were obvious.

"I just wear the clothes, I don't design them."

Merlin then swiftly rose from his seat and left the table.

It was upsetting that he was being so cold. Gen hadn't done anything to him; her whole family had been nothing but kind to him. Hell, Beau even idolized him (though she had the suspicion that that was a two-way street). Still, she was not going to give up that easily. If this Selection had taught her anything so far, it was that nothing was ever as it seemed on first glance. For all she knew, Merlin was just shy or didn't know how to interact with strangers.

Getting up, Gen approached Merlin before he could slip out the dining hall. He seemed surprised to see her again, but didn't make any moves to keep walking. She took that as a good sign.

"I'm going to get fitted for my coronation gown tomorrow afternoon. Freya Jackson's been commissioned for the project, and I was wondering if you would like to go with me?"

"Freya Jackson," Merlin repeated skeptically, as if he could not believe it. "Are you serious?"

Unsurprisingly, the name rang a bell. Gen could see it in the way his eyes bugged out of his head. Anyone who was anyone in the fashion world knew Freya Jackson: the A-list designer known for her elaborate ballgowns. She was a trendsetter, someone who pushed boundaries and paved the way for others to follow in her footsteps. She had dressed royalty and celebrities alike, and now she was going to dress Gen.

"Yeah, she's an old friend of my oncle's," Gen confirmed. Well, she said _friend_ , more like ex-girlfriend. "She's got a studio downtown, working on her collection for Fashion Week next month and I asked if she was willing to take this on as a side project. I'm sure she'd love to meet you."

"Do you have any idea what this could mean for my career?" he asked, blown away. "I hit it off with Freya Jackson and - "

" - and the world is your oyster," Gen finished, a smile working its way across her lips. She knew Merlin was going to accept. There was no way he was going to say no, not to the opportunity of a lifetime. She could see it in his eyes just how excited he was, just how much this meant to him. Quite the change from someone who'd been glaring at her a few minutes beforehand. "The appointment is at four tomorrow. A car will pull up around front at three thirty sharp. Don't be late," Gen instructed.

All Merlin could do was nod.

 _This is not a date_ , she said to herself like a mantra. _This is just me, doing something nice for one of the Selected. That's all_.

She could only hope Merlin saw it that way too.

* * *

The palace didn't have a movie theater. It was built too long ago to accommodate such a space, and the national curators refused to let anyone renovate any of the historical rooms into modern ones. It was one of the only drawbacks to living in Versailles: Gen got to live in luxury, so long as luxury included eighteenth century aesthetics.

That being said, the guys had done a wonderful job turning one of the sitting rooms into a makeshift theater. A projector had been set up on one of the tables while a white sheet hung on the wall as a screen. The chairs had been pushed into a semicircle with a bunch of pillows and blankets scattered in the middle. A pile of junk food sat amongst them, boxes of candies and popcorn that would last them all night. It was a sweet gesture, one that must have required a lot of planning. Gen was touched.

" _Qu'_ e _st-ce que nous regardons_?" she asked, settling down on the ground and getting herself cozy.

"I was thinking...Die Hard. An old American classic featuring two non-stop hours of action," Hugo said as he plopped down across from her, brandishing in the case as if showing off a valuable.

"Great," Gen said with mock enthusiasm. Not that she had something against the genre, but sitting through two hours of guys beating and blowing each other up was not very appealing. "Any other ideas?"

"The Theory of Everything, the biopic about the British genius Stephen Hawking," Sébastien suggested, though that idea was even less appealing. Nothing set the mood like a movie about a dead guy.

"Okay...Anatole?" Gen asked, looking at him while hoping for a lifeline.

"Don't look at me. These two are the ones who wanted movies," Anatole quipped, hands held up in surrender. "My first suggestion was a Nerf war."

 _Was he serious?_ Gen thought. Despite all the effort that went into this event, right now, a Nerf war sounded so much better than hours of mind-numbing explosions or freaky scientists.

"Fuck the movies, let's do that," Gen said, scrambling up from the ground.

"Are you serious?" Anatole asked, his words mimicking her own thoughts from earlier.

"It's not that I don't appreciate what you've done here, because I do, but it's clear that we're not going to agree on a movie..." Gen said, looking between the three guys who reluctantly nodded in agreement. "Louis keeps a stash of Nerf gear somewhere. I'm sure we could raid his room so long as we let him in on the fun."

"We're gonna play against a nine year old?" Hugo asked, seemingly uncomfortable. "How is that fair?"

"Oh, it'll be unfair, but unfair for us," Gen replied, recalling the last time Maman had let Louis play with the contraband indoors. The guards didn't even stand a chance. "Louis is one savage Nerf warrior. He holds no prisoners."

Gen led the way down the hall to the royal wing of the palace. Her parents' door was firmly closed for the night, as was Evangeline and Delphine's shared room. Beau's door had light shining out from under it; no doubt he was up plotting his next botched attempt at flirting, or giving Marcel hell. Thankfully, there was a light on under Louis' door as well, though why the boy was up so late, Gen did not know nor did she really want to. Most things were better off that way.

She rapped quietly on the door, enough so that Louis could hear but wouldn't draw any attention from the guards, or worse, Beau. He had a sixth sense about the Selected. It was a miracle he hadn't sniffed them out already, being as close as they were.

" _Quelle est la mot de passe?_ " Louis demanded, his voice muffled through the wood.

"Umm...Louis is the best brother ever?" Gen guessed, hoping he wasn't going to make her say something dumb like potato or fart.

"Hmph," Louis sighed as he opened his door, making Gen wonder where his valet was. Maybe he had managed to scare off another one - though three months was pretty long for them to stay. "I guess that will have to do."

"Thanks Lou," Gen said gratefully, crouching down to her brother's level. "Can you do me a huuuggeee favor?"

Louis nodded, though he was suspicious of the guys standing a few feet behind her.

"My friends and I need to borrow your Nerf guns. Is it okay if we use them?"

"For what?"

Gen bit down on her lip, debating whether it would be best to tell Louis the truth and run the risk of him going to Maman to tattle, or lie to him and have him tattle and cry. Obviously, one option was better than the other. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah," his little head nodded, though Gen knew he couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

"We're going to play war."

"Can I join?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement...and a little bit of scheming.

"So long as you don't tell Maman," Gen made him swear, which he did enthusiastically. "And, just promise to go easy on us, huh? Don't wanna send anyone home with bruises."

"Fine," Louis grumbled, though the mood was not ruined. He was plotting his way to victory, and Gen felt bad for her suitors. They had no idea the storm that was coming for them now.

Louis beckoned them to follow him into his room, which was surprising seeing as though no one was allowed inside his lair. It was covered in drawings and puzzles half-completed, a bunch of clothes on the floor and a fort of pillows falling apart in the sitting area. Summed up, it was total chaos, but Gen was not surprised in the least. She was only surprised as to why Maman let him keep it this way, but as the baby, Louis tended to get away with whatever he wanted. The group following the little boy to a trunk he pulled out from under his bed. He popped the trunk open, and inside lied dozens of bright orange, yellow, and blue toy guns.

"Sweet!" Hugo said, reaching down to pick one up. He looked just like a kid again. "Oh, you are going down princess."

"All of you are gonna eat my dust," Gen fired back, picking up two smaller guns - one for each hand.

"No, eat my dust!" Louis shouted happily, picking out the best and the largest artillery for himself.

Anatole and Hugo busied themselves with building their armories while Louis ran around collecting other bits and bobs that Gen had the sense to recognize as red herrings. Louis, despite his young age, had great military tact. At least the country wouldn't go to shit if the real army needed to go to war; Louis could probably jump on a horse and take the enemy on with his foam weapons and still win.

The only one not getting into the game was Sébastien. He was standing awkwardly off to the side, watching everyone else geek out over the toys while he studied them, as if assessing what was so great about them.

"Don't you want to play Seb?" Gen asked, gesturing to the trunk. "Pickings are getting slim."

"Not really my thing," he shook his head sheepishly. "Thanks for offering."

"Suit yourself," Hugo shrugged. "Should we go get more recruits?"

"Good idea," Gen agreed. "Why don't you and Anatole see who you can round up and meet me in the foyer? Make sure everyone is quiet though. Don't want to wake my parents up and get you all kicked out."

"Will do," Anatole mock saluted before shouldering his weapon and sauntering out the door with Hugo in tow. Seb took the opportunity to sneak out the door, leaving without another word. Gen wasn't upset about it; she was beginning to realize that a lot of her Selected were either standoffish or just didn't know how to act around her. She didn't want to make things any more awkward than they had to be, and if that meant letting the guys run off when she wasn't looking, so be it. It made her job to get rid of them all the easier.

Dropping down to kneel next to her brother, Gen asked, "Hey, so what do you think?"

" _De quoi_?"

"Of my Selected."

Gen didn't know why she felt compelled to ask, or why she felt she needed her little brother's approval of this fake Selection, but she had already dragged him into this. It was only fair she got his perspective.

"They're cool," Louis said nonchalantly, though Gen knew he probably hadn't put much thought into them outside these past ten minutes. He was currently fiddling with spare bed sheets, weaving them into some kind of rope...or at least that's what she hoped the mess of knots was. "They're not going to beat me at war."

"No, I don't think anyone can," Gen agreed, ruffling his hair. "But you've got my back, right?"

"Maybe..." Louis giggled suspiciously, his eyes sparkling playfully.

" _Right?_ " Gen emphasized, tickling him so he got the message. "You wouldn't leave your big sister hanging. We need to show these boys who's boss."

"I'm the boss!" he asserted proudly, puffing his tiny chest out.

"Sure thing Lou," Gen agreed, sticking out a fist for him to pound. "Partners?"

"Partners," he agreed, making an explosion motion when their fists connected.

"Alright, let's get going," Gen said, picking up the crate of remaining weapons and following Louis down to the foyer.

A small group of guys was waiting for them to arrive. Anatole and Hugo stood at attention near the front, Dante, Ulysse, Lucas Travert, and two others Gen could not remember the names of for the life of her standing in a line behind them, as if Anatole and Hugo were their commanding officers. It was strange and amusing. Surprisingly, Salvatore was nowhere to be found. If Arlo's word about the Italian-born contender being hated could be trusted, Gen briefly wondered if they skipped out on asking him.

She placed the Nerf chest down at her feet and surveyed her competitors.

"Good evening gentlemen. We need to set some ground rules before we go tearing up my house," Gen insisted, getting the attention of all the players. "Just, please don't break anything. Seriously. The national curators, not to mention my mother, would be pissed, and I would hate to see any of you die a slow, painful death. We clear?"

A myriad of heads nodded in agreement.

"Great," Gen let out a breath and clasped her hands, finishing up the rules. "This is an every man for himself game. You get shot, you're out. No cheating, no blaming, no biting, kicking, punching, and no retaliation afterward. It's just a game. Other than that, _bonne chance_!

Everyone who didn't have gear came up to grab some while others worked on their game plans. The good thing about the main foyer was that it was large with lots of alcoves and furniture to hide behind. In the good old days of Nerf wars, Maman used to let them hang drapes and create cushion forts. But that was before Louis broke the German Chancellor's ankle by pulling one of his slip tarps out from under his feet. Now Nerf was limited to the objects in the hosting room, which was still a fuck ton of objects compared to a majority of places.

Gen slotted herself against one of the pillars. From this angle, she could see Dante across the hall, one of the no-names sticking out like a sore thumb, ripe for the picking, and Louis in the periphery with his gun already trained on a target. When the last person was situated, all was quiet. The room was so tense, she could hear crickets chirping from the outside. They were all waiting for the game to start, for her to give the signal.

"GO!" Gen shouted, and all hell broke loose.

A no-name was picked off immediately, Louis shooting him right in the ass. He yelped like a puppy and jumped up into the air, clutching his cheeks from further assault before scampering off with a pout. Ulysse, who had watched the whole thing go down, could not contain his laughter, giving away his position. Louis broke off in his direction, and Gen wished him all the strength and endurance to make it through.

Gen maneuvered to the next pillar. Hugo's back was turned to her, and she seized her opportunity. It wasn't the most honorable kill, but she got him between the shoulder blades and he sauntered off the sidelines with only mild complaining. Then Anatole shot him in the head just for the hell of it.

Ulysse dove between chairs in order to prevent being hit, and if there were a medal for most intense player, he would have won. It was like a scene out of Rambo, and the fact that he got the other no-name out meant that his antics paid off. This no-name was not such a good sport. He threw his gun down and practically threw a mini-tantrum. Gen made a mental note to add his file to the reject pile. There would be no man-babies polluting her home.

Cursing from a few feet away grabbed Gen's attention. Lucas had gotten snared in Louis' rope trap. While he was busy trying to untangle himself, Louis took the opportunity to shoot down his prey with a spray of nerf bullets. It was a dirty kill, but a successful one. Lucas took it well, laughing all the way off the field while mumbling something about sneaky five year olds under his breath.

Gen was so distracted by the trap that she didn't notice that she had backed up right into Ulysse.

Their bodies collided, and they both spun around rapidly. Gen felt her pulse pick up. This was it. She was going down. But Ulysse's finger hovered over the trigger, as if deciding whether it was a wise move to ice the princess. His hesitation cost him his life, as Anatole came up and shot Ulysse down. Forgetting the rules, Ulysse fired some retaliation bullets, but they didn't count. However, they did provide Gen with the perfect cover to hide once more. She positioned herself behind some of the heavy draperies just in time to miss some very close shots. Peeking around the corner, she saw Dante trying to snipe people from afar, and instead of hitting her, he managed to hit Anatole right between the eyes, the bullet leaving a small circular sucker mark. Only guys could walk away from something like that and laugh. Guys were weird like that.

It was only Dante, Louis, and herself left. This was anyone's game. All was quiet, but that was deceptive. Louis was a sneaky little bastard, and Dante was probably biding his time until one of them reared their heads. She risked everything by revealing her new hiding spot. She would play the waiting game if she had to, even if the other guys were booing them and encouraging them to pick things up.

Dante was the first to become impatient. He stood out in the open field, gun trained and sweeping the area, unaware of Gen hiding a few meters behind. Taking a chance, Gen inched out of hiding to get a better aim. The shot was perfect. She followed the curve of Dante's spine all the way down to the small of his back to where his white tee shirt had started to ride up on his golden brown skin. It was a perfect target. She was so close...

...and then, out of nowhere, a sharp pain erupted at the base of her skull. A foam bullet fell to the ground at her feet, and she knew in an instant what had happened.

Gen whirled around to find her brother looking rather smug.

"You little traitor!" Gen yelled, feeling utterly betrayed. All Louis did was cackle maniacally.

"Tough luck princess," Anatole said from the sidelines, patting the ground near the stairs where all the other victims had gathered to watch the final showdown.

It was just Dante and Louis now. Gen was impressed that he had lasted this long This far into a game, usually Louis had decimated all his competitors.

In a final, valiant attempt to escape, Dante tucked and rolled across the room but came up short. Just as he was disappearing behind an antique settee, he caught a bullet to the leg. He made a big show out of being hurt, limping and everything. It made him an easy target to finish off. Either Dante was really into this game, or his performance was for Louis' sake. Gen had a feeling it was the latter, but for Louis' sake, she let that information slide. In the meantime, she joined the rest of the guys in congratulating her brother's victory.

"That was awesome!" Ulysse cheered, not even caring that he was one of the first out. He had a great time. "Why doesn't the media show this side of you?"

That was a great question. Gen wished she had the answer.

Looking around, Gen noticed that Arlo was leaning under an archway, silently watching the scene unfold with subtle amusement. He was still dressed in day clothes and didn't look near ready for bed, if he even planned on getting any sleep. Gen didn't know why he opted out of playing if he was just going to end up watching anyway. Yet another mystery of the male species.

"So, I hear that a perfectly good movie marathon was ruined for this chaos," Arlo said as she approached, still staring as Dante kneeled down to shake Louis' hand and offer a 'good game'.

"A necessary sacrifice," Gen nodded, admiring their handiwork. "Did you have fun creeping on us?"

"Mildly," he replied, a thin half-smile on his lips. "Perhaps you would consider watching those movies with me?"

"Arlo Moreau, are you asking me out?" Gen teased, enjoying the way his face flushed red.

"No," he scoffed, looking affronted. "I just think it's a shame to let such a good idea go to waste. Besides, I have the perfect movie."

"Oh yeah?"

"The Dead Poet's Society. A work of art. Really taps into the complexities of the human condition."

"Is it sad? Knowing you it's probably depressing as fuck."

"All the best stories are," he quipped. "So, movies? Tomorrow night, say around midnight?"

"Sure," Gen conceded, not at all phased by the lateness of the time anymore. "I'll bring the tissues."

"Hey Gen!" Hugo waved her over to where the other guys had gathered around in a half circle. "Come take a picture with us!"

"We're celebrating my victory!" Louis shrieked happily, Anatole scooping her brother up and balancing him on his shoulders while he laughed. Her heart melted just a little at that.

"I'm coming," she called, giving Arlo a parting smile before coming back into the fold.

One of the guys had one of those really obnoxious selfie stick things. How they got it past security was beyond her, but a phone was strapped to the end, getting a really awkward downward angle of the group, but it was the only way to get Louis all the way in from his perch. She stood in the center of the photo, all of the guys surrounding her. Everyone cheesed so hard; she was sure her own eyes were closed or she had blinked during the flash, and that was only if Lucas didn't manage to elbow her in the face when he put up bunny ears.

But the final product was perfect. Sure, Louis' eyes were closed and Ulysse's glasses were crooked and Dante was side-hugging one of the no-named dudes so hard he looked like he would bend in half, but it was perfect.

She couldn't have asked for a better night.


	13. Panic at the Disco

A/N: To those of you who have read To Build a Home, Freya is a familiar face. I love making little tie-ins like these! I hope you all enjoy the chapter! I went totally overboard and it's way too long but oh well. It gets a bit wild near the end, so strap in! Thank you all for being the most wonderful audience; I couldn't ask for better readers :)

* * *

Panic at the Disco

Freya Jackson's studio was huge.

How the designer found such a prime piece of real estate in the heart of Paris, Gen did not know. All Gen did know was that it had a ton of stairs and no elevator. No wonder that woman's ass looked so good; walking up eight flights was a workout. She could only imagine the torture of doing it multiple times a day. However, the view from the top was worth it, the city spread out below them as Merlin and Gen peered out the full-glass wall.

Every inch of Freya's workshop was covered in fabrics. Fabrics and prints and beads and ribbons and so many other bits and bobs that Gen lost count. The mess was a mark of creative genius, watercolor sketches covering cork boards along the walls. Finished pieces hung on a rack along the far side while mannequins held creations still half-done or just beginning. On top of that, the space was bursting with flowers and other potted plants, as if her studio were some sort of fashion garden. It was like walking into a whole other world.

And then the queen of the land herself stepped in to join them.

Freya Jackson was a tall, willowy woman with sharp, dark brown eyes and equally sharp, defining features. Her auburn hair was pulled up in a chignon that Gen assumed was supposed to appear effortless but probably took a good hour to perfect. Everything about her appearance was meticulous, from the crisp press of her purple caftan to to the airbrushed quality of her makeup. Age had taken no beauty away from her, and Gen found herself wishing she looked that good when she, herself was pushing forty.

" _Votre Altesse, Monsieur Phillip, bienvenue_ ," Freya greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm here for my coronation dress."

"Ah yes, the project you talked to me about," Freya recalled, snapping her fingers to jog her memory. "Did you have anything specific in mind?"

"Actually..." Gen pulled Tante Eadlyn's sketchbook out from her tote, flipping open to the marked page and handing it over to the designer. "I was wondering if you could make this."

Freya took the sketchbook, eyeing it curiously. When she saw the sketch, she sucked in a breath and her eyes went wide. Already, Gen could see the gears moving inside her brain, working away the logistics of such a sophisticated gown.

"Did you create this?" Freya asked after a moment of silence, still digesting the sketch.

"No, um, actually this belonged to my Tante Eadlyn. She made all of these."

"Your aunt had such the eye for fashion," Freya praised, reverently running her fingers over the sketches. "I went to her exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Angeles a few summers back - awe inspiring. This one was not on display though."

"It was a present," Gen explained. "Oncle Kaden knew how much she meant to me and wanted me to have a piece of her."

"How sweet, and how lucky," Freya replied with a small smile.

"So...do you think you can do it justice?"

The gleam in her usually enigmatic eye was unmistakable. There was determination driven by the need for success. At one point in her life, she might have tried to hide it, but not anymore. The Selection might have made this woman famous, but she stayed on top by her own merits.

"Princess, it would be my honor."

That was what Gen wanted to hear. The designer placed the sketchbook on her worktable for safe keeping, already clearing the space to begin working on the project at her earliest convenience. Judging by the cups of coffee both empty and full littered across the workshop, Gen guessed that the earliest convenience might be some late hour in the night.

"While you're here, do you mind if I put you both to work?" Freya asked. "I have a few pieces that I've been dying to see on."

"Sure thing," Gen agreed, turning to Merlin. She was hoping this would happen. "You don't mind do you?"

"No, not at all," Merlin was quick to reply. In fact, he appeared nervous.

"Perfect," Freya replied cordially, going over to her rack and pulling down a flowing pink gown and a similar colored suit. "Gen, you take this first. And Merlin...here. This will really make your eyes pop."

They both took their garments and retreated to opposite ends of the room to get changed. Freya followed Gen first, pulling out tape measures and pins for last minute adjustments. The woman worked faster than any machine, her stitching flawless as she ripped seams and adjusted them to fit Gen's body. Soon, the dress fit her like a glove. The feeling was magical; in that moment, Gen felt like a true princess, but a magical one from a fairy tale. Freya's line was definitely on the whimsy side, but she had no doubt that come next season everyone would be scrambling to look like Cinderella.

As soon as Gen was deemed acceptable, the designer dashed off to Merlin's station while her assistant led Gen to the one open space in the studio. A soft white curtain of fabric was hanging from the wall, falling down to the floor. It was a backdrop - not a professional one, but it would do the job. The assistant pulled pots of different colored flowers around the space as props, or perhaps just to fill in blank space. Gen wasn't creative minded enough to know.

Merlin stepped into view, and it was Gen's turn to be impressed. Freya was right. The color of the suit in contrast with his darker skin tone, really did make his blue eyes stand out. They matched the bright blue bowtie and pocket square. His shoes were a dark brown. All in all, the outfit was very much something Gen could see Beau wearing. Dieu knows he'd put wilder things on.

"I'm just going to take a few photos," Freya explained, her assistant running around quietly in her footsteps. "Helps me remember what things look like for alterations."

Gen let Freya position her as she wanted her and Merlin as well. They were like her dolls, hers to dress and maneuver as she saw fit. The designer pulled Gen's hair up in a twist, using fabric clips to hold it in place. She disguised the makeshift tool with a few flowers from a nearby pot, and the result was surprisingly elegant. It made Gen question why it took Elyan nearly an hour to get her hair to look decent when Freya could do the same in a matter of seconds.

"Merlin that's perfect. Keep still," the designer instructed, cocking her head to the side as she judged different angles. They were standing one in front of the other, Gen's back pressing into Merlin's chest while his arms circled gently around her waist. It wasn't as awkward as she expected. Though she supposed that had something to do with Merlin being in work-mode. He was very focused, eyes trained on the camera, not moving an inch. She admired his determination. The camera lights were already starting to make her skin feel itchy and they hadn't even taken one photo yet.

"Gen, tilt her your head slightly to the left dear, that's it. Give me a little pout. Perfect!" Freya approved, and the flash went off, blinding Gen instantly.

They took a few more photos in varying poses, together and separate before it was time for another set of outfits. This round saw Gen in a lavender gown with pale green detail that looked as though vines were creeping up the length of the bodice.

"It's so delicate..." Gen oohed and aahed.

"Everything in my spring line is inspired by nature," Freya explained, gesturing to the plants all around them.

Merlin wore another suit, though this one was more of a cream color with shimmering paisley print in purple, pink, and green pastels. While a lot of guys would not feel masculine enough to pull off such a look, it was incredibly attractive on Merlin. Gen was convinced by this point that he could make a garbage bag look good.

When all the poking and prodding and photos were over, Gen collapsed onto the settee in front of the window. The sun was starting to set, painting the studio in shades of pink, orange, and yellow. The bedazzlement on her waist sparkled, reminding Gen that she would have to take this creation off soon. No one else was allowed to see it before its debut in a few weeks. Gen hadn't been to Paris fashion week since she turned eighteen. Maybe she'd have reason to go this year since she had already poured an entire evening's worth of modeling into it.

"Thank you both, you have been _model_ students," she joked, aware of her pun as she rolled her eyes. "Be careful getting out of the dress - I'll have my assistant help you with that. Merlin, dear, can I have a word?"

He nodded and the designer took him by the arm to the back of her studio, Gen looking after them curiously.

By the time Gen had maneuvered out that dress and squeezed back into her own clothes, Merlin had already finished his conversation with Freya. He had shed the patterned suit and changed back into his plain clothes as well, the jacket hanging gently off of a mannequin while he himself leaned against the glass, staring listlessly off into the city. For someone in the fashion industry, he really didn't like fancy things. He had come to this meeting in just a button down and slacks, and that was only because she told his valet so. Gen was the Princess of France; people would respect her no matter what she wore. It was more important that Merlin made a good impression on the designer, and, judging by his next words, it seemed as though he had.

"She wants to offer me a contract as soon as the Selection is over."

"That's incredible!" Gen exclaimed with pride.

"My friends aren't going to believe this," Merlin said a bit breathlessly, taking in the Parisian sunset with new eyes. It wasn't dark enough for the lights to come on, but the sight was still enchanting.

"Will they be jealous?" Gen asked, sitting upright.

"And proud," he added, a genuine smile pulling at his lips. "Some of them are also in the industry. They would kill for a break like this. So thank you. Seriously, I mean it. Thanks."

"Of course," Gen said as if it were no big deal. And really, it wasn't. When she thought about it, the royal family brushed elbows with so many important icons and figures that it was only right that she extended that influence to those around her. Not saying she was going to go around and get all her Selected jobs, but Merlin was a nice guy and he deserved his big break. Besides, he was rocking it in those pink printed pants even though Gen could tell they weren't quite his style. His friends were going to have a field day when they found out...

Then, an idea came to mind that was only mildly crazy.

"Hey, you should invite your friends out tonight. Celebrate or something," Gen suggested in a casual tone, enjoying the way Merlin's face went from serene to confused to absolutely bewildered.

"Is that allowed?" Merlin asked, glancing at Gen warily. "Are _you_ allowed?"

"I brought Henri with me. Plus, before this started, I used to go out all the time. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Okay then," Merlin agreed, looking a bit wonder struck. "I'll go call them up right now."

He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and walked off to make his calls. Gen smiled at her handiwork, glad to have made a difference.

* * *

"So, where are we off to, oh brave and fearless leader?" Gen asked as she and Merlin slid back into the car.

It was a limousine, one that was sectioned off, so she had a bench to herself while Henri and Merlin sat side by side facing her. Herni was staring pointedly out the window (though Gen knew he was really watching Merlin like a hawk from his reflection in the mirrors), remaining silent and allowing them the illusion of privacy.

"I know this really nice place right off of the Champs d'Elysee we could go to," Merlin suggested, quickly tacking on, "If you're into it."

"Merlin, I don't know if you know this about me, but I'm always down to eat," Gen replied in all seriousness. "Probably not the wisest move seeing as though I have a coronation dress to squeeze into, but that's a problem for my dietitians."

Merlin chuckled. "Alright, sounds good."

"Just given the driver the address. I'm going to put up the privacy barrier," Gen instructed, fiddling around the seat as she looked for the damned button.

"Why?"

"Because if we're going to a fancy restaurant, I don't think even the princess can show up in jeans and a sweater."

This explanation did nothing to clear things up.

"You keep spare clothes back there?"

"Please, who do you take us for?" Gen teased. "We keep a whole wardrobe. You know, just in case. I would think a model such as yourself would understand."

Once he caught on that Gen was still teasing, Merlin rolled his eyes and chuckled under his breath. It was the last thing Gen saw before the barrier obscured him from view.

By the time they rolled up at the restaurant, Gen looked like a whole new woman. Sure, her hair was still pulled up in a ponytail and her make up was still the same crap she slept in the night before, but gone were the warm, comfy clothes. Instead, she wore a white silk dress overlaid with teal blue lace and a pair of modest, strappy gold heels. Studying her reflection in the camera on her phone, Gen tucked away a few stray hairs and placed a pair of sunglasses over her eyes and a scarf around the top of her head. It was very old-Hollywood chic, but it was also a classic way of obscuring her identity from the press. Not that she was hiding for them, but it was one thing to get a lot of talk in the papers. It was another thing entirely to get caught up with the paparazzi in the middle of downtown with one of your suitors.

It was cold as shit without any kind of jacket. Thankfully, Henri was swift in his journey to walk both she and Merlin inside the building. To any other passerby, they were just another rich couple going out on the town. Nothing to fuss over.

The restaurant was blessedly warm, and the hostess waisted no time getting a waiter to show them to a table near the fireplace while Henri wisely stayed behind to run surveillance. The restaurant was all gold and chrome and clean lines with glass panes that let patrons see into the kitchen. The dining area was an intimate setting, one filled with low, dim lights and candles. A pavilion, empty due to the time of year, offered an impressive view of city. Couples talked in hushed tones while piano music played in the background.

"So, do you come here often?" Gen tried, earning a wry grin from Merlin.

"Actually I've never been here before in my life."

"Then why pick it?"

"I have a friend who's the sous chef," he explained, casting a glance towards the kitchen as he tried to spot one person in particular. "I promised him if I got the chance, I would swing by."

"So this is what you took from me saying 'go out with your friends'?"

"Ha ha," he replied dryly. "I did call some others. Hopefully they'll show up, but they're known for being _fashionably_ late."

"I'm guessing that means we'll be here a while."

"Probably."

"It's a good thing I skipped lunch then. I'm starved." Gen teased, picking up the menu. It was a strange combination of foods - disappointingly none of which were pizza.

" _Bon soir, et bienvenue_ ," the waiter said politely, pulling out a small pad of paper and a pencil. "What can I get for you?"

"A bottle of your finest red please, and do have those little baskets with the hot rolls in them?" she asked. The waiter nodded. "Great! I'll take two. And I guess whatever Merlin wants."

She knew she was being ridiculous, but she didn't really care. It's not like she wanted to impress Merlin, so fuck it. If she wanted bread, she would eat all the bread and smile through every bite.

"I'll just share with her," Merlin said, though after looking at Gen's affronted expression, decided to amend his answer. "Or not...A house salad then. Thank you."

With one last curious glance, the waiter scuffled off to the kitchen, probably to talk shit about the weird girl in sunglasses pigging out on rolls but Gen didn't care. If she got upset every time someone called her a name, she'd cry an endless river of tears.

"A salad...gross...don't you ever live? We're supposed to be celebrating," Gen commented once the waiter was out of earshot.

"I'm a model. Eating bread is the equivalent of committing a mortal sin."

"Well, then I guess all of _this_ is enough to buy me a one-way ticket to hell," Gen said as the baskets were placed in front of her along with butter. Her mouth watered. Her eyes made hearts.

"Is there anything else I can get for you at this time?" the waiter asked, setting down the modest salad in front of Merlin.

"Actually, do you mind sending out the sous chef?" Gen asked, beating Merlin to the punch. "I'd like to give him my compliments."

"For the bread... _mademoiselle_?"

"Sure," Gen replied with a tight-lipped smile. As pretentious as it sounds, she wasn't used to being questioned by staff. She wanted this squeaky little man to do as he was told and stop giving her side eye every time she ripped into the flaky crust of a new roll.

A man stepped out from the kitchen and headed their way. He was clad in traditional chef's white, his hat twisting in one hand while he scratched at the dark stubble on his chin with another. His dark hair was wildly curly, and his eyes were a kind blue. It was clear that he was not used to personal calls, searching for the particular guest who requested his presence.

"Marcus!" Merlin waved a hand, the man's expression lighting up as soon as he saw who it was.

"Mer!" the curly haired chef exclaimed, looking absolutely blown away to see Merlin in his restaurant. He pulled Merlin up from his seat and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. It was a heartwarming scene. "What are you doing here man?"

"We came to see you."

"We?"

Gen dipped her sunglasses down the slope of her nose so Marcus could see who she was before quickly replacing them. If it were possible, Marcus' blue eyes widened even further. A hand came to rest of his heart as he took a step back.

" _Ah Mon Dieu_...I have the princess...in my restaurant..." he stammered.

"It's not that big a deal, please," Gen insisted, hoping that Merlin could calm his friend before they attracted any attention. "Merlin told me this was the best place in Paris because it had the best chef in Paris."

Gen tried her best to smile and break the ice, just to seem normal. A lot of people, when they figured out who she was, acted like they lost all common sense. She was hoping that didn't happen right now. Thankfully, Marcus seemed to level out, choosing to focus on Merlin instead of his guest.

"Well, I don't know about all that, but thank you."

"Once Marcus gets famous he's going back to Nice to open his own place," Merlin said, looking at Marcus with a mix of pride and amusement as he wound one arm around his shoulders, keeping him close. "Until then he has to settle for little old Paris."

"What a hardship that must be," Gen sighed with feigned sympathy, enjoying the way Marcus' face twisted into a pout.

"Just you wait. When I'm back home, I'll cook every day, every meal. I'm going to get you fat. It's going to happen," Marcus taunted, poking Merlin in the side to get him off.

"Never has, never will," Merlin laughed, sitting back down.

"You're going to eat your words Mer, literally," Marcus insisted, looking as if he were up to the challenge. "I know just the thing too. I'll be right back."

Marcus practically ran back to the kitchen, shouting orders to the other cooks before he even made it through the swinging doors. Both Merlin and Gen laughed at the sight, completely unprepared for whatever Marcus decided to whip up.

"He seems nice," Gen said with a smile.

"He's the best. I've known him all my life. He was always there for me when we were kids, and when I was uh- " Merlin hesitated, his voice catching in his throat as if he were speaking about something difficult. "When I was going through... _things_...at home, he really came through. He's like a brother to me."

"I wish I had a friend like that," Gen lamented, feeling a spike of jealously as Merlin spoke so highly of Marcus.

"What are your friends like?" Merlin asked in turn.

"I wouldn't know..." Gen trailed off, her finger absentmindedly running around the rim of her wine glass. "I'd have to have one first."

Sure, she had her siblings and her cousins. She could always go to them to talk or if she needed them. Maybe even Samara for a brief while before the awkwardness of feelings ruined that relationship. But an actual friend? Someone she met outside on her own, someone who willingly chose to stand by the insanity that was her life without payment or bribe? She'd never had one of those.

Merlin was looking at her differently, as if he were seeing her for the first time. There was no sign of the cool breeze. No indication of judgement. Instead, he just looked sad, like he couldn't fathom a life without a single friend.

Thankfully, Marcus saved them from any deep commentary about Gen's depressing confession. She hadn't meant to bring the mood down. She was just so damn inexperienced; she really needed to learn to shut her damn mouth. Two plates full of something hot and wonderful smelling were brought under their noses. It was a rice dish of sorts, covered in colorful veggies, shrimp, meats, and seasonings.

"Carbs...so many carbs..." Gen moaned. This was food porn, and she was in love.

Marcus looked pleased at her reaction. Merlin, however, remained skeptical at the heaping meal in front of him.

"What is this?"

"My own spin on jambalaya, taken from our Creole descendants across the pond," Marcus replied, leaning towards Gen as he confessed. "You see, when I open my own place, I'm going to embrace every inch of French culture from all corners of the world, from your own backyard to the Ivory Coast."

"I'm part Italian," Merlin piped up, lips quirking upward into an impish smile as Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose.

"But you're mostly French."

"I'm also allergic to shellfish."

"No you're not, smart ass," Marcus sighed, put out by Merlin's antics. This felt like a familiar exchange: Merlin sassing his best friend and wearing down Marcus' resolve. "Now you will eat and you will like it."

"If you say so."

Marcus cuffed Merlin on the back of the head playfully before walking away. Merlin laughed to himself, his blue eyes crinkling and nearly disappearing altogether. He looked cute when he wasn't trying to be standoffish. In fact, everything that was once intimidating about Merlin Philip seemed to disappear. How had she thought he was scary at all?

"I have to ask you something," Gen said, drawing his attention. "Do you like me?"

Merlin froze, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "Like you?"

"Not in that way, but you don't hate me, do you?" Gen clarified. "I mean, whenever we've crossed paths before, you barely gave me the time of day and at breakfast yesterday you gave me the cold shoulder."

"It's nothing personal, trust me," Merlin assured. "I'm just...not good with strangers. Making friends. It's not my forte."

Gen accepted this. She knew first hand how awkward some of her Selected could be, and did her best not to hold it against them. That didn't mean she was going to hold back teasing them.

"You and my brother get along really well it seems," she antagonized, enjoying the way Merlin actually seemed to blush at the mention of Beau.

"Don't mock me or laugh or anything, but I'm actually a really big fan of your brother."

It was something Gen was used to hearing, but from someone like Merlin, she was baffled. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, like fanboy level," he admitted, looking somewhat ashamed but also bashful.

"Of Beau? You're really serious?"

"A hundred percent," he confirmed, nodding his head. "I admire him, you know? It takes guts to stand in front of an intolerant world and be who you are, completely unashamedly. It's inspirational."

Suddenly, Gen was no longer hungry, her stomach dropping to the floor. She felt like such a fraud. Here Merlin was, openly admiring someone because of how courageous they were to be honest with themselves, all the while Gen was parading him around on a wild goose chase eating a fancy, romantic dinner that meant absolutely nothing all because she was unable to be honest with herself and the guys she was leading on.

"I get that..." Gen mumbled, picking at her jambalaya, trying to get back to the good mood from earlier.

"When we first met in the hall, and he was standing there, I'll be honest...I barely noticed you," Merlin confessed, laughing a bit. "My mind was screaming, _holy shit, there he is, in the flesh, play it cool._ "

Gen managed to smile.

"Well, I'm going to tell you a secret," she leaned in across the table conspiratorially. "My brother is a pretty big fan of yours as well. But don't tell him I told you that."

"My lips are sealed," he promised.

A man who was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome sauntered up to the table. He was clad in all black, so at first Gen thought he was a waiter, until she realized that waiters didn't smell of high-end cologne and wear Armani trousers. He looked down at Merlin expectantly, silent so it took him a second to realize the man was there.

"Victor, great to see you," Merlin greeted, standing up to embrace him with a peck on both cheeks.

"They're right behind me. Prepare yourself," Victor warned. His voice was deep and smooth like silk, a dangerous combination that would probably land him any hetero woman he wanted. Which made it all the funnier when his sights turned on Gen and he uttered a single yet seductive, "Hey."

Before Victor had the chance to introduce himself, two women came into view, parting the crowd to reach the table. They were an odd pair: a petite red head and a tall blonde. Both looked dressed to the nines - the red head in a patterned romper with tan suede boots and the blonde clad in a skin tight black dress with matching leather heels. Both garnered attention from everyone who passed. Maybe Merlin knew them through modeling. But instead of being happy to see them, Merlin looked oddly confused.

"Illeana...you're in Paris? Since when?"

"Since last week. I was in the mood for an adventure and Jacinda was generous enough to open her flat," the red head explained, gesturing to the lithe blonde. "She's been working with some new artists for her latest EP - really great stuff. Plus, she has it on good word that we can sneak onto a guest list for their party later if you're interested."

"I'm not, but thanks for the offer," he replied dryly, while glancing over to Jacinda. "That was kind of you."

Jacinda smiled and nodded, glad to be recognized. There was a tension between she and Merlin that Gen could not place, and one Illeana did not like at all. Their personalities were also drastically different. While Illeana seemed like she could talk your ear off about anything and everything, Jacinda was cool and collected. Illeana frowned, unhappy that the focus had shifted from her. So, she nosed herself back in.

"Chelsea wanted to come as well, but she said something or other about her muse striking and a project that needed to be finished. Artists, you know how they can be. So tormented!" Illeana tutted, looking mildly upset. "She sends you her love of course."

"Who's your date?" Jacinda asked, looking Gen's way with a critical eye. There was something possessive in her stare, as if she were telling Gen _back off, he's mine!_ Whatever it was, Merlin was oblivious to it. He brushed past her without a second thought, ignoring the way she flinched when he rejected her touch. For a second, Gen felt bad for her.

All eyes were on Gen now, turned expectantly as they waited for her reveal. Reluctantly, Gen pushed the sunglasses to the top of her head and waited for the stream of commentary that usually followed.

Jacinda scowled, her thin lips pressed into a pale line as she was clearly displeased and did nothing to hide it. Victor merely gave Gen a wolfish smile. On anyone else, it would have looked predatory, but on him it seemed she had won some kind of approval.

" _Ah. Mon. Dieu_. No fucking way!" Illeana screeched, her grey eyes blown wide in disbelief.

"Keep your voice down," Merlin hissed, his hands hovering as if deciding whether to clamp them over Illeana's mouth.

"We're trying avoid the paparazzi at all costs," Gen added in a kinder tone.

"Ugh, that celeb status must be incredibly taxing," Illeana lamented, scooting into the seat next to Gen, ignoring all parameters of personal space.

"I called two hours ago," Merlin pointed out. "You kind of missed dinner."

"What a shame," Illeana pouted, but just as quickly as her mood deflated it picked back up. "Why don't we all go out for drinks? That way we can really celebrate."

"That's a bad idea," Merlin vetoed, looking like he had had his fill of Illeana's antics.

"I'm down for it," Jacinda replied, the votes now out of Merlin's favor. Illeana looked pleased and turned her sights to Victor

"What do you think Vic? You've been awfully quiet."

"I think that it's up to the princess," Victor said, a playful glint in his dark brown eyes. He was just about as shameless with his flirting as Illeana.

"Looks like we're outnumbered," Gen said to Merlin, though she was not exactly upset that she was being dragged downtown. Her body was practically humming with excited energy, jumping at the chance to go wild after being reserved for so long. "Where did you have in mind?"

"There's this new place that popped up down the avenue. I'll ping you the address and you can meet us there," Illeana instructed, fingers flying over the screen of her smartphone. "Oh! While I'm at it, do you mind if I friend request you? What platforms do you use? Outside of the official royal accounts, of course."

A few minutes later, Gen was connect to all three of Merlin's friends on just about every site imaginable. She didn't even know she had half of them to be totally honest.

"Perfect!" Illeana beamed, bouncing on her toes, which was impressive given the height of the heels on her boots. "See you in a few!"

Illeana scampered away, Victor following close behind though he cast glances back at Jacinda so he didn't leave her behind. The blonde was still sitting next to Merlin, making Gen somewhat uncomfortable. She didn't know what kind of power play this was, but once more, Merlin was blissfully unaware. If only Gen were that oblivious. It would have made this meeting a tad less awkward.

"You do have something else to wear, don't you?" Jacinda sneered, judgmental green eyes raking up and down Gen's body.

Despite the obvious jibe, Jacinda was right. While Gen was dressed for dinner, she was hardly dressed to party.

"Don't worry about me. I've got it covered," Gen replied evenly with a smile, enjoying the way Jacinda's frown deepened. She spun around on her stilettos and stomped out after her friends.

"I'm guessing you have something appropriate in that wardrobe?" Merlin asked.

"Oh, I have just the thing," Gen smirked conspiratorially. "I just wouldn't call it appropriate."

* * *

Gen paid the tab - courtesy of the royal credit card - and they were off to the next location.

The address was one Gen recognized instantly - one of the best dance clubs in all of Paris. It usually had a wait list, but because she was royalty and Merlin's model friends were up and coming in the Paris elite, they would have no problem getting in. Gen wasn't worried about anything except what to wear. Whatever it was, it had to blow Jacinda's outfit out of the water. She normally wouldn't be so petty, but Gen had to put the girl in her place.

Costume change number three was a sparkly gold mini dress with a low-cut vee in the front. Gen wore the same shoes as before, but switched up the jewelry to something a little more flashy. Nothing the royal curators would lose sleep over if they went missing, but a few yellow diamonds to the ears and wrist were definitely what this get up needed. Gone were the glasses and scarf; there was no need to conceal her identity in the intimacy of a dark, crowded dance club. It didn't even matter that she wasn't dressed for the cold. After a few shots and a couple of dances at the center of the moshpit and the weather would be insignificant.

Merlin's jaw literally dropped when she came out from the backseat, and Gen was pretty sure that Illeana's did too. Victor let out a low whistle, and Jacinda...she looked downright murderous as she played with the hemline of her little black dress.

The bouncer took one look at Gen and let them through, just as she expected. The group of six - Henri refused to stay behind - sauntered through the black velvet ropes into the club. Immediately Gen was assaulted with the smells of strong liquor, sweat, and cologne. Her eyes had to adjust to the dark punctuated by flashing strobe lights and sirens. She was home.

"I'll go get drinks," Victor said, immediately breaking off from the group.

Not yet in the dancing mood, the group - now minus Henri because Gen insisted he go make nice with the other security guards - moved to an open table. They slid into the open white leather booth, forming a semi circle around the polished black wood. No one had said a word bedside Victor, and Gen was painfully aware of how awkward this was, especially since somehow she had gotten sandwiched between Jacinda and Illeana. Merlin was standing up, leaning across the table, his back to the group as he surveyed the area. He looked out of place. It wasn't the first time Gen had noticed. He was very, very different from his friends. They seemed loud and uppity and very closed off while he was much more mellow. It was a startling contrast, though she supposed that every friend group had that one person who preferred to watch and observe from the sidelines instead of participate with everyone else.

Victor came back with a round of clear shots. Vodka, judging by the smell, and the good kind at that. That scent...it stirred up so many memories both fond and not so fond.

"Cheers. To Merlin's big break," Victor raised his glass, everyone following suit. "I hope you make it to the A list you lucky son of a bitch."

"To Merlin!" Illeana cried.

"To Merlin!"

Glasses clinked and shots were tossed back. The liquor burned down Gen's esophagus, her system not used to the burn after so long an absence.

The music changed and Jacinda groaned.

"Ugh, I hate this song!"

"You wrote this song," Merlin shot back.

"I love this song!" Illeana shouted, banging her head off-beat to the music. "Dance with me!"

She pulled on Gen's arm, dragging her out to the dance floor. Gen would have put up more of a fight, but she was itching to dance as well, she just was not as vocal about it as Illeana. Jacinda was close to follow despite her earlier protests, Merlin in tow. Victor had slunk off again, probably to hit on some unfortunate soul at the bar.

They pushed they way to the core of the crowd, bodies bumping against one another in an uncoordinated mess. Illeana was grinding up against some random guy while still managing to dance with Gen, which was both hysterical and impressive. She let herself get lost in the bass, closing her eyes and shaking her hair loose. It was the freest she felt all Selection.

Songs ended and new ones started. They switched dance partners just as often, though Jacinda never liked passing Merlin onto her. Victor would resurface every once in a while with more drinks or shots. They were stronger than normal, and Gen could feel the liquor working its way through her system. It had been about a month since she'd last been out, and the separation had done terrible things to her tolerance. She had only had three shots and it felt like her usual six.

Eventually it caught up with her.

The room started to spin, her balance became iffy, and Gen knew it was time to sit down before she broke her neck in her heels. Somehow, she managed to get away from the crowd on her own. She told Illeana where she was going and headed towards the bathroom. If things were going south, she'd rather not make a spectacle of herself.

The bathroom was dingier than the rest of the club, overhead light flickering as if deciding whether or not to give out while toilet paper and other trash covered the floor. Some girl had lost her lipstick, the bright red tube smashed into the counter. The sink was dripping weakly and there were no paper towels. Giggling came from two stalls over where one girl swayed on her feet, holding the door shut while her friend peed. The door itself was covered in scribblings and hearts and other drunken messages from nights long past. Long story short, the place was a hellhole, but a familiar, comforting hellhole.

Gen had been in this bathroom too many times to count. It was one of her favorite up and coming clubs. She had thrown up all over the handicap stall once and donated money to the owners the morning after because she felt so bad about it. Now, she leaned over the sink and tried to stop her head from spinning. Her reflection in the mirror looked pale and sweaty saved for flushed cheeks and ruby red lips. Her lipstick was smeared in the corner, though her fingers were too uncoordinated to do anything about that.

"There you are!" Illeana giggled, her red waves bouncing as she pushed past another girl who was on her way out. "Roy was getting worried."

"Roy?" Gen asked, the name unfamiliar.

"Sorry, _Merlin_ ," She apologized, rolling his name dramatically. "It's just a little nick name, you know, between friends."

"Am I his friend?"

"I hope so," Illeana nodded slowly, though she seemed distracted, her eyes flickering to Gen's lips. "I want to be your friend."

Illeana was not Gen's usual type. She was too pale and too aggressive and honestly, Gen could not look at a red head without seeing Delphine and her beady little eyes. But somehow, in the dim light of that bathroom, Gen wanted nothing more than to take Illeana by the hair and kiss her until her knees gave out.

So she did.

Maybe it was to reaffirm what she already knew about herself: that girls with their soft lips and gentle curves could do more for her than any guy ever could. Or maybe it was a silent act of rebellion, a fuck you to the monarchy that was forcing her to go through with something so against her nature. Either way, it was extremely gratifying to know that, despite all the charades, she could still get what she wanted. The kiss was sloppy and drunk, and Illeana's nails were digging too far deep into the skin of Gen's neck but damn if it wasn't liberating.

One of the stall doors slammed against the wall, and Gen jumped, pushing herself off of Illeana. The present came flooding back in, crashing over her like a tidal wave, dousing any previous desire in ice cold fear.

"I-I can't," Gen stuttered, taking a step back from Illeana as panic coursed through her veins. _What the hell did you just do?!_ "I'm sorry I shouldn't have - "

"Shhhhh it's okay," Illeana insisted. "A lot of girls like to kiss other girls when they're drunk."

As if that made Gen feel any better. She was suddenly very sober. More sober than she liked. Her heart was hammering out of her chest because Illeana now held the power to destroy her. With a single word, Illeana could ruin everything, and it was all because Gen couldn't keep it in her pants. Illeana, the most unreliable, relentless attention seeker she had ever met, and she had only known the girl for a few hours.

"I won't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret," she promised, but what good were promises made when one could barely remember them? "You're really good at that though...the kissing thing."

"Thanks..." Gen mumbled, trying to push past Illeana, but she wouldn't let her.

" _Ah mon Dieu_ you're so embarrassed," Illeana giggled, her eyes quickly going wide. "Wait a minute...do you... _like_...girls?"

"N-no," Gen stammered, feeling very clammy. Her stomach was rolling. She was about to be sick all over Illeana's romper if the girl didn't shut up, back up, and give her space.

"You and Mer would have been so perfect!" She cooed, leaning in close as if sharing a secret. "It's just...the irony...and he didn't always have a dick you know."

"What?"

The words were a half-slurred jumble, most of it lost in translation. Illeana hastily covered her mouth while she giggled, as if she'd made a mistake. "Oops! I shouldn't have said that. Don't tell him I said that!"

"O-okay..." Gen replied shakily, not sure what was going on anymore.

Illeana was making negative amounts of sense, and was intruding far too close into Gen's personal space. She needed to shut this down, and quickly.

"Let's get back to the group," Gen muttered, pulling a stumbling Illeana along with her. How interesting it was for tide of the night to change so quickly. And she had been having such a good time too.

The group looked no different than before, gathered around the table sipping on cocktails. Gen prayed they wouldn't be able to spot any differences or tension between she and Illeana. Thankfully, they were all too buzzed to care. Jacinda took Illeana under her arm and the red head started blathering on about nothing in particular, the bathroom kiss seemingly forgotten. Gen hoped for all their sakes that it stayed that way.

Still, the anxiety lingered, preying on her fears.

What the hell was she going to do now?


	14. Talk Shit Get Hit

A/N: More craziness up ahead! Thanks for your support for the last chapter; I'm glad it all came out okay. It's hard to tell when things get that long. I hope you enjoy!

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Talk Sh*t Get Hit

It was only midnight when Gen decided she'd had enough partying and wanted to go back home.

No one protested, though Gen figured they were too drunk to care. Illeana, Jacinda, and Victor caught their own rides back to their apartments, leaving Gen to ride home with Henri and Merlin. Merlin was in a great mood. He was humming along to a radio that wasn't even playing, muttering under his breath about how Constance and Lucian weren't going to believe this, whoever they were. The change in his personality was so drastic after he got a few drinks in him that Gen was hard pressed to think that he was a totally different person. And then there was that comment that Illeana made, about what Merlin did and did not possess. It was confusing, and raised a lot of alarms in Gen's mind as though the answer should have been obvious. But that mind was also fuzzy and went off like a siren whenever that damned kiss reared its ugly head.

Gen felt nauseous. She didn't even know if Illeana was trustworthy enough to keep her word. The last thing she wanted was this to get leaked to the press; that was not the kind of attention she needed at the moment. The only silver lining was that the red head could wake up in the morning with a raging headache and a blackout memory. A girl could hope.

Right now though, this girl could puke.

Which Gen did as soon as the car pulled into the driveway. She got out, ran over to the perfectly manicured bushes, and heaved out the contents of her stomach. Immediately, she felt ten times better. Henri gave her a look as if to say, _seriously?_ All Gen did was glare at him, challenging him to say something. If Heather was going to pay him to be her babysitter, then she had the right to act childish sometimes. That's how that worked, right? Probably not, but oh well.

The car door opened and the driver helped Merlin out. He was stumbling a bit, and Gen wondered when he had gotten so drunk because she swore he was the most sober out of the group last time she checked.

"I had a really great time," the model said dopely, his smile so much more relaxed than Gen had ever seen before.

"Me too," she replied, trying to feign the giddiness she had felt earlier in the club before things went to shit. "I'll see you in the morning."

" _Bonne nuit_!" he sing-songed. Gen let out an amused sigh.

"Henri, do you mind taking Merlin back to his room? I think he's worse off than I am..." she asked, watching as Merlin tried to gain his footing on the steps and failed.

"What about you?" Henri asked, his dark eyes narrowing into even darker slits in his own form of unspoken protest.

"This is not my first rodeo," Gen assured her wavering bodyguard. "I'll be fine, I promise."

"Alright, _Votre Altesse_. I will be right back," Henri conceded, though he did not look entirely convinced. It must be tiring, Gen thought, to be so skeptical of everyone and everything all the time.

Henri hurried over to Merlin, subtly helping him up the steps so that he could do no further damage to himself or the palace. She stayed a good bit behind them, needing some space if even for a moment.

The lights were out in Versailles save for the ones that lit the garden to keep up the aesthetic to tourists and random passerbys. Inside, it was dark and quiet as a mouse; not even Henri and Merlin had left a lit path in their wake. Gen swore the guards were trained to see in the dark, rigid frames casting eerie shadows on the walls. They were a familiar fixture, though a haunting reminder that she would never really be alone - that it was only a matter of time before someone found her.

That time came as soon as she set foot on the upstairs landing. Her room wasn't too far away, her bed so blessedly close. Yet, the lights overhead flickered to life, signaling the arrival of her house guests.

"Wow! Where's the party?" came a chipper voice, followed by a whistle.

Normally, Beau would be the one to make such ridiculous statements, but this time it was Lucas Travert. There was nothing lewd about the comment that normally would have gotten other creeps punched. Instead he looked genuinely wowed by Gen's appearance - much like Merlin had been - despite the fact she was sure her hair was wild and her makeup was smudged from the impromptu make out session. Lucas was looking nowhere but her eyes. Well, mostly her eyes except during moments in which his curiosity got the better of him. Lucas was a pure soul after all. He was flanked by Hugo, and Dante walked a few paces behind, seemingly apologetic for his companion's outburst.

"The party's right here boys," Gen teased easily, used to doing this dance with other guys. She was still in her sparkly golden dress and heels, comfier clothes forgotten in the back of the car. No wonder she had attracted their attention. A lot of them had yet to see her in anything other than jeans or tee shirts. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Impromptu match," Dante explained, gesturing to the black and white ball he held under the crook of his arm. "We could ask you the same question though."

When he smiled, it warmed Gen from her nose to the tips of her toes. Dante was also a pure one. A little nervous - she could tell by the way he kept fidgeting with the ball, filled with idle energy that had been absent before stumbling upon her - but pure.

"Merlin got a fancy contract, and we had to celebrate," she said, her speech not as succinct as she would have liked it to be, but she wasn't slurring her words, which was a very big plus.

"We'll have to congratulate him when we see him," Hugo replied, looking mildly impressed. Gen realized that she hadn't gotten to see much of him compared to some of the others, though he was also one of the ones, like Merlin, who gave the cold shoulder. She'd have to take a crack at him later...when she wasn't so tipsy.

"I'm wounded that I wasn't invited," Lucas continued with the gag, mock-pouting as he leaned up against the wall.

"It was a spur of the moment thing. Very low-key, very...boring. Nothing personal," Gen rattled through an excuse, hoping his feelings weren't actually hurt. But who knew? Masculinity, she was coming to find out, was very fragile.

While everyone else was content with staring and joking, Dante furrowed his brow and became concerned. "Are you feeling okay, _Votre Altesse_?"

"I'm fine! Great, actually!" Gen said a bit too enthusiastically. Damn! Were her nerves showing? She could never keep a poker face up after drinking, and after the roller coaster that was the club, she had to appear like a deer in the headlights.

Dante did not look convinced. Instead, he handed the ball over to Hugo and pulled the sweater off of his back, leaving him in just a thin white tee, and handed it over to her. "Here, you have to be freezing."

It was such a sweet gesture, Gen could have cried. She pulled the cream-colored material over her head, and even sizes too big, she swore she had never put on anything so comfy in her life.

"She wouldn't need to cover up if she had more self respect."

The hall went silent as Salvatore walked in. Lucas' face fell, the joke forgotten and replaced with a stunned expression. No one could quite believe the words he had said.

"Excuse me?" Gen squeaked, her voice not nearly menacing enough for her liking. Instead, she sounded like a timid mouse.

"Where do you get off? Dressing like that, parading yourself for other men as if we are not already here to serve you. I thought you were a woman of decency and morality! Have you no self-respect?" Salvatore continued his rant, his tone absolutely venomous. He was always so passionate when he spoke, so emotional, and this time he was not using that passion to spout love ballads. Genuine fury laced every word out of his mouth. Gen would have thought she had ran over his dog with the amount of contempt he was throwing her way. It was unwarranted, unnecessary, and just plain mean.

Normally, any other guy would get a good telling off and a kick in the ass. Gen had fended off her fair share of creeps. But after the night she'd just had, she was drained both mentally and emotionally. She was two steps from crying, her mouth gaping like a fish wondering how things had gone so south so quickly. Life just could not cut her a break and it was so fucking unfair...

"This is the princess. Why don't _you_ try showing her some respect," Dante spoke up, not liking the way Salvatore was talking to Gen. He was the only one big enough to engage in this battle. The others were blatantly uncomfortable, but in no physical condition to pick a fight with a mountain. A vein in Hugo's neck twitched. Lucas' face turned a startling shade of red. Regardless, it made her feel better and less vulnerable knowing that these guys were on her side.

"I will show her respect when she starts acting like a princess and less like a whore."

All the air was suctioned from the room. A collective gasp was heard, ringing in Gen's ears along with the fury she felt clawing up her throat...or was that bile? She didn't know if she was going to be sick with rage or illness. No one, _no one_ spoke to her like that. Yet, all the violent thoughts and images flowing through her mind only equated to silence.

Then Salvatore was laughing, Dante was laughing, everyone was laughing. As if someone had just made a terrible, horrible joke.

And then Dante was lunging forward and punching Salvatore clear across the face.

The crack of bone was unmistakable. It was such an intense punch that Salvatore actually staggered backwards, his nose crooked and bleeding like a waterfall. The other guys whistled low and muttered curses under their breath, trying to decide whether to congratulate Dante or stay out of this mess. Hugo reached out to pull Gen away, but she was rooted in place. Dante didn't look proud of himself. If anything, he looked resigned to the fact that he had to resort to such violent means, shaking out his fist. Gen was sure he'd done damage to his hand.

Most guys would have gotten the hint and backed off. Not Salvatore. He righted himself and looked downright _excited_. Like he wanted to start a fight. He popped his knuckles, ready for round two. Dante only grimaced.

Thankfully, Henri stepped in, returning from escorting Merlin. It was the only time Gen actually felt blessed to have someone so nosy and invasive in her life. Dante looked just as relieved to be taken out of the line of fire. The bodyguard intercepted Salvatore's war path, halting the man in his tracks.

"Please maintain your distance from the princess," Henri instructed, a firm hand on Salvatore's chest, holding him back.

"Now listen here you overpaid monkey," Salvatore sneered, still trying to push past Henri to little success. He looked a hell of lot scarier now that he had blood running down his face and on his shirt. "I will have words with the princess if I choose to have words. This does not concern you."

Salvatore made the mistake of trying to shove Henri. In the next moment, Henri had Salvatore falling through the air and lying flat on his back, knocked out cold. Gen had no idea what the bodyguard had done to knock him out so quickly, but she didn't care. Salvatore was unconscious and drooling with guards running over to cuff him as quickly as possible.

"Get this man out of here _now_!" Henri snapped, his usual composure cracked as he gave his commands. In a split second, he had gone from a silent guardian to an attack dog. The guards nodded quickly before heaving Salvatore's body up off the ground and dragging him away, not wanting to end up in his shoes.

Henri took a deep breath, stepped forward, and placed both hands on the tops of Gen's shoulders, grounding her. "Are you alright, _Votre Altesse_?"

"I want him gone!" Gen demanded, her head spinning. She honestly had no idea what the hell just happened or what to think. All she could see was Salvatore coming after her, a man twice her size with the intent to inflict harm and she stumbled. Henri caught her, but even his friendly grip was too much. "I want him out of my house! Out of my country! Send him on the first boat to Italy, I don't care I want him gone!"

Gen didn't know if she even had the power to exile subjects. She didn't care. She never wanted to see Salvatore or his overly-tanned face ever again.

"He's leaving, _Votre Altesse_ , he's leaving," Henri assured, trying to lead her to the steps. "Perhaps you should sit down and - "

"No," Gen insisted, pushing away from Henri so she was tripping into the middle of the hall. "No...no I need air. I need to get out of here."

"Princess I must insist - "

"Get away from me!"

Her voice was a near-shriek, echoing off the walls with painful clarity. Henri backed up immediately, as did the guards who looked torn between fulfilling their duty of protection and letting Gen go. Gratefully, they chose the latter. No one followed her as she tore down the hall towards nowhere in particular. She kicked off her shoes so she could run faster, losing them somewhere between the sitting room and the conference room. A maid would find them and return them in the morning. Gen wished they would burn them instead, along with the dress she now felt like ripping off of her body and tearing into tiny, glittery pieces.

She wished she could burn this whole night from her memory. It was nothing but a nightmare.

Salvatore's words rang through her ears, blocking out all other sounds.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was a whore. Because what kind of self-respecting young woman invited thirty five strangers to her house only to flirt and toy with their hearts and then leave them in the dust? What kind of person goes out on a very nice date with a wonderful young man only to make out with his best friend in a bathroom stall? Maybe the reason Gen was hurting so much was because the words had hit too close to home, cut far too deep and she wasn't ready to hear the truth.

Gen hated herself. She hated the lies and the games. More than anything she hated that she knew there was no way she was going to stop any time soon. She said from the beginning that she would do whatever it takes to procure the throne - even break thirty five hearts. She just never considered that hers may be damaged, or completely lost, in the process.

Unable to keep going, Gen collapsed in exhaustion. Her body sunk down the nearest wall, leaving her in a heap on the floor. She pulled her knees to her forehead and tried to regulate her breathing that was still wracked with hiccups from sobs. There were no tears; she'd shed them all on the way. She was grateful that her feet hadn't led her to the Hall of Mirrors. She didn't think she could stand seeing a million wrecked versions of herself, mocking her former strength.

Footsteps drew Gen out of her hole of self-pity. She tried to compose her best brave face so she could tell whoever it was to fuck off. But when she looked up, she was greeted by an unexpected yet familiar visage.

 _"Qu'est-ce que tu veux?"_

"I heard screaming..." Sébastien explained, looking down upon Gen with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" Gen snapped. Why the hell did everyone keep asking her that? She really didn't mean to be so rude to Seb; he was a nice guy, but he was in her space when all she wanted to be was alone to wallow in her own misery.

"Dumb question..." he mumbled, admonishing himself. Then he straightened up, suddenly emboldened. "Do you want to get out of here?"

"What?"

"Come on," he said, extending a hand. "Let's get out of here."

Gen eyed him curiously, like he had sprouted a second head. Since when did the kid who skirted around the edges of social circles have enough courage to ask her out point blank. "And go where?"

Truth was, she was itching for escape. From this house, from this night, from this Selection, from everything. Seb was dangling an opportunity right in front of her nose, yet she was hesitant.

"I-uh just..." Seb trailed off, looking nervous as he scrambled for an answer. "Look, I don't really want to stick around for what comes next and I see you don't want to be here either, so how about we go and get away from this madness? So just, trust me?"

 _Trust?_ Gen wanted to shout. Trust was the last thing she wanted to do. If tonight's string of unfortunate events had taught her anything, it was that she could trust no one, not even herself. But Seb was looking at her with those kind green-brown eyes which were made just a little bigger by the rectangular frames of his glasses, like he could see straight through her, and it was hard not to give in to his request. And then she thought about all that awaited her in the palace, the chaos she left behind and the people that would be coming for her any minute.

Fuck it.

Gen took his hand.


	15. I'm Coming Out (I Just Want You to Know)

A/N: I just realized that these past three chapters all happen in the span of one night - what a night that is! This is a pretty big chapter for Gen, and I got kind of emotional writing it? I don't know I'm just stupidly attached to my babies (and yours). Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for being amazing readers and leaving me such lovely words! You make my day :)

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I'm Coming Out (I Just Want You to Know)

Gen had no idea where Seb was taking her.

After the night she'd had, she should have told him to fuck off and chosen to curl up in bed instead, but there she was, trailing behind him like a lost puppy as they maneuvered the empty streets of Paris. It was late - later than even the party people were willing to stay up - but yet there were still a few stragglers on the Seine. She watched them through the window: the panhandlers, vendors, couples drunk on love, and those too drunk to call a cab. And then there was her: dressed in the jeans she'd found discarded in the back of the limo pulled under her golden party dress with Dante's sweater on top and Seb's jacket draped overtop of that. What a sight she must've been, not at all the strong, confident princess they would expect. A disappointment.

It had been a struggle to get the driver to agree to take them back into the city, seeing as though it was late, he had a life of his own, and had just come back from there not half an hour prior. He became much more willing when Gen promised him a raise and some extra days off during the next holiday season, but he still shot her dirty looks from the rearview mirror. Whatever. It wasn't like he could make her feel any worse than she already did.

It was also a miracle they had gotten past Henri, though Gen thought that that was on purpose. The bodyguard seemed to be set on giving Gen space for once, and though she was grateful for it, she could not help but wonder about what kind of lecture she was going to get when she returned home. _If_ she returned home. She had half a mind to tell the driver to take her to the nearest airport and get on the next plane to nowhere. Instead, she was sitting in a silent limousine with a boy who'd barely spoken two word to her the entire Selection.

Gen canted her head back against the leather seat and let out a long, shaky breath.

She really thought she could do this. She thought she could make it through to the end, but this...this night was threatening to break her. She hadn't even liked Salvatore, and yet his words stung more than she cared to admit. The shame that flooded through her system was overwhelming. Usually the only people to make her feel like that were her family, and these boys...they were not her family. Even though she lived with them day in and out, they could not possibly be getting close enough for her to give a damn about their opinions...could they?

The car stopped, pulling up to the curb nowhere in particular and Seb got out to open Gen's door. It had started snowing since they'd left the palace, fat flakes falling from the sky, coating the concrete in white. The city had yet to send out plows, the snow too new and not yet deep enough to warrant removal, so Paris was left in an enchanting frost. It was like something out of a movie, the kind of view everyone searched for and dreamed of. Gen just thought it was one giant cliche.

"Where are we?" Gen asked, shivering as she got out and the cold air bit her nose.

"Paris?" Seb replied, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled two red umbrellas out of the backseat.

Not for the first time did Gen regret her decision to come along. This was such a bad idea. Maman probably had the national guard out searching for her and Seb would be arrested and thrown into prison for kidnapping the princess. They should just get back in the car and go home. But Seb was opening the umbrella and walking into the night, not even waiting for her to follow. Perhaps he assumed that she would. Because he assumed right. Gen cursed under her breath, pushed up her own umbrella, and jogged after her runaway suitor.

"You're really going to make me run?" Gen huffed, resenting Seb already. First he kidnaps her, then he abandons her in the cold to freeze and makes her run after him. And she did _not_ run. No one wanted to see that.

Thankfully, he got the hint and stopped. Damn, those scrawny legs could get him far! Gen was huffing misty breaths by the time she caught up, glaring daggers at Seb who was merely smiling apologetically. That stopped her from saying something unsavory. He was too kindhearted to take the full brunt of her rant. She would just be being mean.

"Mind telling me where we are going?" Gen asked instead, seeing no sign of activity in all directions.

"I'll know it when I see it," Seb said vaguely with another shrug.

Gen was a hundred percent convinced Seb had no idea what he was doing or where he was going. She didn't say anything, though she wasn't sure why. She was freezing her ass off and was probably getting frostbite, but she still let Seb lead the way to nowhere in particular.

They kept walking and walking that Gen felt that her feet were going to fall off. She cursed herself for not wearing more practical shoes; her slide ons from earlier were a better option than the gold heels, but not insulted at all. Blessedly, as soon as she was going to beg Seb to turn around so she could at least get some socks, a few twinkling lights came into view. As they got closer, Gen could make out the metallic body of a food cart. Whatever the vendor was selling, she could not smell it. Which was a shame, because she was actually kind of hungry. Dinner with Merlin had been hours ago, or was it lifetimes?

"I present, the best ice cream in all of Paris," he said when they were a few feet away, gesturing to the small stand with a flourish. Up close, it didn't look all that grand, just a small, dented cart with a rainbow striped awning and a selection of about five different flavors.

"Really?" she asked. Maybe he had had a plan all along and was just messing with her.

"I have no clue. I'm not from around here, but it says so on the sign."

Gen managed a laugh at the sheer ridiculousness.

"It's cold as hell. Shouldn't we be getting something warm?"

"No," Seb replied surely. "If you eat foods that are around the same temperature as the climate, you don't feel it as much. It's kind of like you're acclimating to your surroundings. If we got hot chocolate or coffee, you'd only be more aware of the cold."

"Fascinating. They teach you that in medical school?"

"Actually, that one I learned from the internet and many, many brain freezes."

Gen laughed again, and Seb laughed along this time.

They both got in the nonexistent line and picked their flavors. Much to her disappointment, the vendor was out of pistachio, so she had to settle for a plain chocolate while Seb picked strawberry. The heavyset, mustachioed man scooped their treats slowly, and eventually completed the transaction with drooping eyes. Gen felt bad for him, and tipped him extra for the trouble of dealing with two stupid kids on a misguided adventure.

A bench was situated on one of the nearby bridges, and the two walked over to claim it. Not like anyone else was around to steal it. There were no lovers around this time of night to lock their love on the rails and throw the key into the river. There was a time when Gen thought the tradition was romantic. Now, she saw it as the pollution and public transportation problem that it was. The weight of thousands of locks weighed down the bridge, compromising its integrity to where it neared collapse. That didn't stop people from doing it though, and as princess, Gen had to be the asshole who told people they could no longer display their affection in such an overt manner. How fitting.

The first bite of the chocolate cream sent a shooting pain to her teeth so that she made a hissing sound. It was so damn cold out that the ice cream hadn't even begun to melt. In fact, it got harder, if that were even possible. Seb didn't seem to have a problem with it though, looking out into the dark water with a blank expression as he ate his cone.

What the hell was he playing at? He was the one who brought her all the way out here, and now he was going all silent on her? It was the strangest form of seduction she had ever encountered, and yet...it didn't seem like he was trying to seduce her at all. Maybe this little Casanova-sweep-her-off-her-feet act wasn't an act at all. Maybe he was just trying to be kind in his own, indirect way.

Gen studied him closely. If anything, Seb looked...nervous. His knuckles were white gripped around his umbrella, ice cream rigidly placed in his lap, and his gaze was focused intently away from Gen. He kept himself at a safe distance from her on the bench, like he didn't know what to do with her. That made two of them at least. Gen had no idea what to do with him either.

The silence was driving her crazy, making the blood in her ears pound. Being back in this city made the memories and regrets run rampant. Sitting still was only making her antsy. She fidgeted, shifting as she tried to get comfortable but she couldn't. The cold and the crawling feeling on her skin made it impossible for her mind to settle. She couldn't live like this...couldn't take it.

"Seb, I need to tell you something. I'm choosing to tell you because I think I might die if I don't tell someone, and you seem like the one who is going to freak out the least."

"Okay," he said, finally turning his attention to her. He looked at Gen curiously, as though expecting her to say something like 'I have cancer' or 'you're going home'.

He seemed so trusting, so open...and yet there was still hesitation. This was huge. Was she really about to say this? Open this Pandora's Box? There was no going back from this, and yet, if she didn't say it, she was going to explode.

"I kissed a girl tonight."

The words tasted like lead on her tongue, and yet once they were freed, Gen felt so much lighter. As if she had rid herself of some sort of burden. Not the whole thing, but a piece large enough to feel as if she could breathe again.

Seb's eyes widened comically, mouth opening and closing as he tried to process the information.

"Oh," was all he managed.

"Yeah."

Silence passed between them as she watched the gears in Seb's mind tick.

"Is kissing girls something you do often?" he asked, trying his hardest to remain objective.

Gen nodded miserably, unable to meet his eye.

"I see."

More silence. Gen knew she should not take it personally. This was a lot to drop on someone who'd only wanted to take her out for ice cream. However, Seb had yet to scream at her or call her names, so she took that as a good sign.

"Does Arlo know?" Seb asked after a while.

"No, I haven't told him," Gen replied. Out of all he could have asked, that was an odd question. "Why?"

"No reason. Just that you spend a lot of time with him. I figure...if it's not because you want to marry him...then it has to be because he knows something."

Seb's reasoning made sense. Honestly, she wasn't sure why she hadn't told Arlo. He had been honest with her, and she couldn't even pay him the same respect in turn.

"He's just a friend. I needed someone and he was just...convenient," Gen tried to explain, only to realize the flaw in her logic and get frustrated with herself. " _Dieu_ , that makes me sound like such a shitty person doesn't it? Like who does this to people?"

At the mention of Arlo, the movie marathon came to the forefront of her mind. _Merde_ , she cursed as she realized that it was far past midnight and Arlo had probably been waiting all night for her to watch his depressing list of movies. He was going to be disappointed, hurt that she didn't show. Just something else to add to the ever-growing list of reasons why Gen was a piece of shit.

"You're not a shitty person," Seb insisted gently, placing a hand on her knee comfortingly. "We all make mistakes. That's the beauty of being human."

"You're being too nice to me Seb. I don't deserve it," Gen said as she brushed away the affection she did not deserve. "I mean, you should be _angry_. I'm leading you - _all_ of you - on. You should _hate_ me."

" _Je ne te déteste pas_ ," Seb refuted.

Those eyes looked so honest that Gen couldn't take it. He proved in five words he was a better person than she was in a million different ways; if she was in his shoes, Gen did not think she would be as forgiving. She had to look away. Her nose started running, though it had nothing to do with the weather, and she sniffed and blinked rapidly. Damn her emotions. She was not going to cry, not here, not in front of him.

"I bet you're really regretting coming all the way here for nothing," she commented, voice full of self-loathing.

"I - uh - didn't really have a choice if we're being honest."

"No choice?" Gen scoffed. "What? Did your parents force you into this like mine did?"

"My mom did, yeah."

He nodded sheepishly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed.

"Oh..." Gen said, taken aback. She had totally been joking, but by the way Seb was looking at her, she could see now the error of her ways. "Oh shit. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he shrugged, like this was an every day occurrence. "My mom, she has really high standards. Ridiculously high. She pretty much forged her own path in the world, strong businesswoman and all that. Always thinks she knows what's best for me...even though she doesn't. She never really came to terms with my, uh, _lack_ of ambition, so to speak."

"But you're going to be a doctor," Gen pointed out, confused.

"I know...but I was never really the best student, and she had such high hopes..." he sighed, studying his ice cream. "I picked medicine to please her...to get her out of my hair. Yeah, the studies are hard, but they're manageable."

"Do you even like it?"

"I feel like I'm doing something useful. I mean, I'll be saving lives so that counts for something, right?" Seb asked, and Gen nodded, though his face twisted into something less than pleased. "But then I talk to Anatole and...that guy is just so _passionate_ about making a difference and helping people, and that's wonderful - I'm happy people like him exist and I'm glad to have met him - but I feel so... _mediocre_...again..."

Seb stopped talking and sucked in a breath.

"...and I'm rambling..." he said and then exhaled. It was only then that Gen noticed his hands were shaking, and not from the cold. "Funny."

"Funny what?"

"Usually I'm the one doing all the listening," he said, gesturing vaguely between them. "I'm not used to...to... _this_..."

"This?"

"I feel like I've said too much..." Seb frowned, rewinding the conversation in his mind.

"Keep talking," Gen encouraged, much to Seb's obvious hesitation. "It makes me feel like I'm not the only one who's dealing with shit."

"Okay..." Seb eventually agreed. "What do you want to hear?"

"So you and your mom don't see eye to eye. What about your dad?" Gen tried. She liked hearing about families. They made her feel justified in her assumption that hers was batshit crazy.

"He and my mother could not be any more opposite."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, not all the time," Seb was quick to amend, a smile curling on his lips as he thought more about his father. "He's a dreamer. Stayed at home to raise us while Maman was at work. Now he keeps a _patisserie_ to pass the time. He's a really good cook. I think you'd like him."

"I think you're right. They're an odd pair," Gen agreed, trying to imagine such a starkly different couple getting a marriage to work. " _Dieu_...your mother is going to flip when this Selection ends..."

" _Ouais,_ " Seb agreed with a breathy laugh. "She'll probably be really mad. Tell me what I did wrong or how I could have done everything better. But I'm used to it. It's what she has Emma for."

"Emma?"

"My older sister. Her favorite, though she wouldn't admit to it outright," Seb admitted, his tone containing a substantial amount of irony. "She's everything our mother ever wanted out of a child. Beautiful, ambitious, and crazy smart. She studied economics - at Oxford no less - and now she's being groomed to take over the business when Maman steps down. All my life I've been compared to her. When she walks into the room...it's like I don't even exist."

"Beau was Maman's favorite until he came out," Gen said, dredging up old memories and she didn't know why. "Even though I was the first born, I felt like I could never measure up. I mean, who can compete with that much charm and charisma? But the day he came out...I remember that day so well. We were all just sitting around the table eating breakfast; Grandmère was there telling stories and Maman was laughing so hard she started crying. Grandmère used to tell really, _really_ great stories before she got sick, this one something about Maman when she was a kid making trouble. Then, naturally conversation turned into when Beau or I were having kids. I was in my teens and Beau was hitting puberty full stride so of course it was meant to be a joke, but he took it so _seriously_. Something about that story just made him snap and he told everyone flat out that he was never having children because he didn't like women, he liked men. And the table went so quiet...I mean _dead_ quiet and Maman's face just _crumpled_. No one had any idea what to say or what to do. I had known for a while what Beau was feeling - and personally I was going through my own sexual crisis but that's a whole other story - but I have never seen him more scared in my entire life...scared of the very people who are supposed to love him no matter what...and they just shut him out. He had always been this...larger than life character; I put my own brother on a pedestal and then I watched him fall right in front of my eyes."

"That's awful," Seb sympathized.

"They used to be so close and now they can barely say two words without going at each other's throats," Gen got choked up, and since when had she started crying? "I just can't...I'm just scared and I...I don't want that to happen to _me_..."

"Hey, it'll be okay."

Seb scooted over and pulled Gen gently to him so that her face was buried in his chest. It was slightly uncomfortable to be bent at this angle, but Gen needed something to anchor herself to so she didn't float away.

"I _can't_ have that happen to me..." Gen repeated, feeling like such a small, insignificant child. "I can't lose the throne _and_ them, I just can't. What am I supposed to do?"

" _Je ne sais pas_ ," Seb sighed, sounding just as tired as Gen felt. It had been a draining night on them both. "But whatever you decide to do, I'll support you a hundred percent."

Gen sniffed and nodded, though she did not pull away. Seb was comfy and warm and smelled pleasantly like old books and sandalwood.

"Sorry for dumping my drama on you."

"Don't be," he reassured. "You feel better, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," Gen agreed. Talking to Seb had done her good, more good than she realized. It had been so long since she had spoken to anyone about anything remotely personal outside her brother, and it was incredibly liberating.

Seb had been so gentle, so kind. It was more than she was worthy of, and yet, the doubts still trickled in.

"You're not...mad...at me are you?"

"I'll admit, I didn't come into this thing with any hopes or expectations. I'm a little disappointed that I'll never be able to actually get to date you...or kiss you...or anything..." Seb flushed and shuffled his feet, clearly embarrassed by his own confession. "But more than anything, I just want to be there for you. If it's a friend you need, I can be that. If that spot isn't already taken, that is...I know how attached you are to Arlo and - "

"Seb," Gen interrupted, a smile creeping up her face as she realized how lucky she was to have such a sweet boy on her side. "I would love to have you as a friend."

She leaned in and briefly pressed her lips to Seb's. It was barely a brush, a blink and you'll miss it type deal, but enough to count in anyone's book as a kiss. Even Seb looked like he'd missed something. Lucky boy, he was the first male to ever kiss the princess, and the first in the Selection, though she doubted anyone would ever know. He didn't seem like the type to kiss and tell.

"Can check it off your bucket list, huh?" Gen tried to joke, but poorly.

Seb huffed a laugh and nodded, though the heat from his cheeks had started to fog his glasses just the tiniest amount. It was cute how hard he tried to cover it up.

"It's late..."

"More like early," Seb replied, pointing to where the sky was starting to lighten into a cerulean blue. "Time to head back?"

Gen nodded, her eyelids suddenly feeling so much heavier than before. Damn sugar rush wearing off...

She leaned back into Seb and the two walked side by side back to the car.

* * *

By some miracle, Gen made it back to the palace without passing out.

She was tempted to fall asleep to the lull of the engine, and tucked up against Seb, she was more than comfortable. This whole night was draining and Gen wanted nothing more than to have it all finally over with. But, she couldn't make Seb carry her back to her room, and she was already pushing her luck with the driver. He would sooner let her sleep in the backseat than call someone to fetch her.

No one was awake save for the guards. No one stopped them or came out of the halls to call her a whore. In fact, the palace was eerily empty except for Seb at her side. He walked her all the way back to her door. There were hushed, yet insistent voices filtering out from the other side and Gen groaned. If her parents had actually assembled a search party, this was about to get very, _very_ awkward.

She turned the knob and pushed the doors open as quietly as she could. Unfortunately, she was still assaulted as soon as she stepped foot inside.

" _Votre Altesse_!" Elyan fussed upon seeing Gen walk (more like stumble) into her room. "Praise _Dieu_ , we were so worried!"

"We?"

It took her a moment to process that Henri was also in the room, standing within close proximity to Elyan. Then, alarm bells went off in her mind because Elyan and Henri were in the same room and weren't trying to kill each other? In fact, they looked downright friendly, huddled close together stealing glances while talking in hushed tones. What kind of dream world was Gen in right now?

Henri said something into the comm in his ear too fast and too low for Gen to catch. Whatever it was, he appeared much more relaxed than before. He walked over to Seb while Elyan's gentle hands were guiding Gen towards bed. She was speaking, but Gen wasn't listening to a damn word, too focused on whether or not Henri was going to judo flip Seb as well. Instead, all Henri did was shake Seb's hand and see him out of the room. Could this dream world get any stranger?

The bodyguard checked the hall twice before shutting the doors again. He looked as if he had questions that needed to be answered, but Gen wasn't in the mood for interrogation and stopped him before he could get a word out.

"I don't know if I said it before, but thanks," Gen said, trying her best to stay awake.

"For what?" Henri asked, eyebrow quirked questioningly.

"For having my back. If you weren't there, I would've been toast."

"All part of the job, _Votre Altesse_ ," Henri dismissed, though Gen could tell it meant something to him that she was finally recognizing his work.

Surveying the room one last time, Henri gave a short bow and left the room with a warning that he would be back to check in on the perimeter every hour. Gen saluted him and wondered if he needed any sleep, of if he just had an unlimited stash of adrenaline to keep him going.

"Come now, let's get you to bed," Elyan encouraged, the maid's arms coming to circle around Gen's torso as they guided her to bed.

Elyan was so good, always so thoughtful. She made quick work of Gen's mismatched clothes and handed over a fresh pair of flannel pajamas. While the jeans and party dress could get thrown into the wash, Gen was reluctant to part with Dante's sweater.

"No, I want to wear it," Gen insisted, pulling the garment over her head, enjoying the all-encompassing comfort that came with it. She hoped Dante never asked for it back; it was too comfy to part with.

"From someone special then?" Elyan asked gently, only a hint of the teasing she'd be getting in the morning.

"Someone kind," Gen replied, her speech slurring due to her semi-conscious state.

"Well, I hope you'll tell me more once you're well rested," Elyan said, tucking Gen in so she was a snuggly burrito of warmth.

Her maid got up to take one last look around before turning off the lights. However, Gen was not yet content, something lurking at the edges of her mind.

"Elyan..." she called out, searching for her shadowy frame in the dark.

"Yes, _Votre Altesse_?"

"You'd love me no matter what, right?" she asked, feeling vulnerable and insecure. "Even if I did something that disappointed everyone else, if everyone ended up hating me, you would still love me, right?"

"Of course," Elyan replied immediately, concerned for her mistress. "Why? Have you done something disappointing?"

"No," Gen refuted as she pulled up her covers as if those could protect her from her demons. _Not yet_ , her mind supplied. _Not that you know of_. "Just curious."

"Get some sleep _Votre Altesse._ You'll feel better in the morning."

For once, Gen did not need to be told twice. She closed her eyes, and sleep took her immediately.


	16. Dial A for Awkward

A/N: Hello wonderful readers :) we are finally moving on from Gen's no good very bad night! Drama ahead, and preparations for another date next chapter! So much fun! Thanks for being incredible and leaving such kind words. I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Dial A For Awkward 

In all her life, Gen had never remembered sleeping _that_ hard.

It felt like someone had knocked her into the afterlife, and coming back to the land of the living was a struggle. There was a throbbing in her temple, and her mouth tasted like she had swallowed cotton...or maybe it was the fuzzy blankets she was wrapped up to the neck in like a burrito. The clock on her nightstand read 1:52 and Gen knew she was going to be in deep trouble. Maman hated tardiness, even worse, laziness. Right now Gen was exhibiting both traits.

"Elyan..." Gen croaked from her bed, lacking the energy to do anything other than lie there miserably. "I feel like death."

"Yes, well you had quite the night," came the maid's voice, growing closer along with the clinking sound of silverware.

Gen mustered the strength to sit up, untangle herself from the sheet, and find that Elyan had once again proven herself to be Gen's guardian angel. The maid extended a silver tray complete with a cup of coffee with provided creamer, a cup of water, and three ibuprofen. She placed the tray on the open side of the bed, and Gen took the proffered gifts gratefully. She placed the tablets on her tongue and swallowed them with a gulp of the water which cleared the sticky feeling in her throat.

"Ugh, you're the best," Gen praised. Elyan looked amused, but there was still a touch of concern.

"Are you sure you've gotten enough sleep? You didn't come in until near five."

"I'll live," Gen assured, though the pounding in her head said otherwise. She willed the drugs to work faster. "Did _you_ get enough sleep?"

Gen was referring to the prominent dark circles under Elyan's eyes. The maid seemed embarrassed by them, cautiously ducking her head to avoid more scrutiny.

"It is my job to worry about you, _Votre Altesse_ , not the other way around," Elyan replied quietly, placing the back of her hand across Gen's forehead to make sure she had not caught a cold from her exposure to the inclement weather. "Besides, you gave me a scare last night, going on about people hating you."

"Yeah, I probably wasn't making much sense," Gen lied, forgetting about that little outburst of insecurity that she would rather not talk about. "You know how I get after a few shots."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Honestly, Elyan, I can't even remember half of what I said the whole damn night," Gen managed to laugh, though Elyan only smiled tightly in reply, not buying it. However, she did not press, for which Gen was immensely grateful.

"Well, just go a little easier next time will you?" she requested, and Gen nodded her consent with a salute much like the one she gave Henri the night before.

"I want you to take the rest of the day off," Gen insisted. Immediately, her maid went to protest, but Gen cut her off before a lecture could ensue. "I'm serious Elyan. You've gone above and beyond and have more than earned some time to yourself for putting up with my wayward ass. And I swear, I will not burn down the palace in your absence."

"Are you certain?"

"Absolutely," Gen assured. "I'm not the only one who needs to catch up on their beauty sleep."

"Very funny _Votre Altesse_ ," Elyan said wryly, not amused at all.

"Or, you know, maybe you could call Henri and see if he's busy," Gen suggested, enjoying the way Elyan's face flushed a dark red.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," she replied, flustered as she scurried over to straighten the pillows on the sofa. Compulsive cleaning was her nervous tick. "Besides, aren't you the one who insists on wearing that boy's sweater?"

"Uh huh, sure...change the subject," Gen drew her voice out, though she subconsciously stroked the soft fabric. She had lived with Beau's nosiness for years; Elyan would have to do better than that. "I may have been out of my mind last night, but you two looked awful close. Honestly I thought I was hallucinating because I could have sworn you hated the guy."

If it were possible for Elyan to turn any redder, she did.

"We were both worried about you. That's all," Elyan replied primly, standing up straight and curtseying. "Now if you don't mind, I think I'll take you up on your offer and leave."

"Have fuuuuunnnnn," Gen sing-songed after her maid, snickering as her footsteps clicked faster around the corner, desperate to get away.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that Gen realized she didn't even have her schedule, or clothes, and Elyan was the one in charge of both. Gen sighed. This was going to be another long day.

* * *

The dining hall was bustling with action by the time Gen arrived.

She found a pair of jeans thrown over the couch in her sitting area - when they last got washed, only _Dieu_ knew - pulled out a tee shirt from her chest of drawers, and threw Dante's sweater over top of it. She looked like a bum, but a comfy bum, and that was all that mattered. If these boys couldn't handle her looking her worst, they didn't deserve her at her golden party dress. Slipping on some slippers, Gen gulped down the last of her tepid coffee and made her way downstairs.

No one really paid her much mind, thankfully. Most of the guys were in their own little worlds. She caught Seb's attention out of the corner of her eye, and they shared a smile before he returned to his food which Anatole was trying desperately to sneak off his plate. A few of the others tried to catch her attention as well, but she paid them little mind. There was one she absolutely needed to speak to.

"Hey," Gen said as she sat down in the empty spot next to Merlin. He'd picked the seat nearest the door, eyes roving over the paper while simultaneously checking his phone. "How is everyone?"

"They're fine," Merlin replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "Everyone had a great time. Even if they can't remember it."

"Seriously?"

She could scarcely believe it, and dared not to get her hopes too far up before hearing the whole story.

"Yeah," Merlin chuckled, blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "Jacinda called to check in this morning. She and Illeana both woke up with killer headaches and absolutely no recollection of partying with the princess. Illeana was crushed when I delivered the news, but apparently deafened half the block when she saw you had accepted her friend request."

Gen let out a huge sigh of relief. So, _Dieu_ was real after all and he knew kindness. Gen could not have asked for a better miracle, the anxiety she'd had about the kiss melting away. Illeana would never remember, and Gen could live with keeping one more secret. No one would have to know. Everything worked out.

"Well, I'm glad they're alright," Gen said with a smile, trying not to look too pleased.

"What about you?" Merlin asked, brow furrowed over the black frames of his glasses. They suited him, Gen thought, though she supposed he could make anything look good. The suits yesterday were a testament to that. "The guys said there was some kind of fight? Dante has been in meetings all morning."

 _Meetings?_ Her mind screamed. _Why was Dante in meetings?_ Gen's eyes flashed to the royal end of the table, specifically to her mother. They would have words as soon as she cleared this up with Merlin.

"Yeah...Salvatore had some _lovely_ comments about my party dress and Dante didn't like them. Neither did I, but I wasn't the one who punched him, though I kind of wish I was."

"Me too," Merlin added under his breath, trying and purposely failing to be sly. "I'm guessing that's why he's missing."

"You guess correctly," Gen confirmed, glaring at the space where the rowdy former-suitor once sat. "He's gone now - Salvatore. Hopefully halfway across the Mediterranean."

"Good riddance," Merlin scoffed, then jabbed his fork subtly in Lochan's direction. "Now if only you could get rid of that guy, things would be perfect."

"I'll pitch the idea to Heather, see what she says," Gen replied diplomatically, not up for getting knee deep more drama just yet. "Enjoy breakfast, err lunch."

Merlin smiled and rolled his eyes at her slip up. Again, Gen was struck by how pretty he was. Handsome? Pretty? What adjectives exactly did apply to Merlin Philipp? Gen had deciphered Illeana's drunken confession. Not that Gen cared. In fact, she was completely unbothered, so it was easy to pretend that she knew nothing at all. It wasn't Illeana's secret to tell, so Gen kept her mouth shut. If or when Merlin ever decided to open up about his past, Gen would be there to listen. After all, she of all people had no room to judge.

Gen got up and headed towards the end of the table.

Her mother and father were already seated, each in their own separate worlds. Papa reclined back in his chair, reading glasses perched on his nose and one hand holding a pencil as he rifled through the paper in search of the crossword while Maman was busy signing a stack of dossiers. Beau looked downright giddy as he caught sight of her, and Gen could tell he was itching to know the details of the night before. Delphine cast Gen a nasty, disapproving glance while Evangeline only gave the briefest of smiles as she found it hard to remove herself from her literary world. Once again, Lucas Aubry seemed to be reading over her shoulder; strange enough, Vange had angled the book downward...almost as if so he could have a better view. Curious...

"Gen! Gen! Look!" Louis cried, distracting her by bolting out of his seat to show her his latest creation. "Papa showed me how to make a paper crane!"

"It's lovely," Gen smiled obligingly. Any other day and she would have loved to entertain her brother, but she had things she really needed to talk to her mother about.

"But you're not even looking..." Louis pouted.

"Yes I am, see?" Gen said, picking up the crane that was a tad smushed from her brother's rough handling. "I've never seen a crane so lovely in my entire life. Except maybe a real one."

Louis brightened after that, wrapping his small arms around his sister's neck. Strange, how the love of a small child could make her feel so much better so quickly.

"Thanks Gen," he beamed, running back to his seat.

"Louis, we walk indoors, not run," Maman scolded lightly, waving her pen in his direction. The wayward prince slowed his speed, but it was in vain as he was only a few steps from his seat. Gen sighed, wishing that her mother would at least try to look more involved.

Surprisingly, Heather was seated adjacent to Maman, looking rather put out. She wore another traditional Indian ensemble in a shade of robin's egg blue edged with gold and interspersed with golden detail. She had a shawl of the same blue color pulled tight across her shoulders while she slathered butter aggressively on a croissant as if it had personally offended her. Neelam was nowhere in sight, and Gen was finding herself wishing the odd girl would suddenly appear to provide a buffer between she and her mother.

Gen leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek before taking her seat. Her eyes never left her mother, who seemed to not even acknowledge her presence.

"Why is Dante in meetings?" Gen asked, cutting right to the point. She doubted she would get any attention if she tried to beat around the bush.

"It's standard procedure following altercations with any member of the royal family," Maman replied as if reciting from a book. As if she hadn't been living with the guy for the past few weeks.

"But he didn't do anything wrong."

"That is for the security council to decide," Maman dismissed, scratching her name off on another paper. Gen felt her anger flare, and it was like her mother had a sixth sense for it. Her blonde head shot up and she fixed Gen with a pointed glare. "Don't fight me on this one Gen. You can fight me on anything except the matter of your safety. Two of your Selected brawled in the middle of hall last night, and you got caught in the thick of it. Those boys are twice your size; you could have been hurt. And then you went missing."

Maman's tone was succinct, leaving no room for argument. Now that Gen was close, she realized that her mother's face looked drawn, pinched with extra lines around her mouth and eyes that weren't there the day before. She had only been joking about her mother sending out a search party. Had she really been _that_ concerned?

"I've already spoken to Gen's bodyguard about how unacceptable the incident was. First letting that boy get close enough to pick a fight, and then letting her slip away into the night..." Heather tutted, her face twisting into a grimace as she expressed her distaste. "He assured me it would not happen again."

"You told me you'd hired the best," Maman pointed out not-so-gently.

"I did," Heather replied cooly. It was clear she did not like to be reprimanded, especially over things she considered within her control.

"Don't punish Henri for this either," Gen insisted, forcing herself back into the conversation. She'd never much liked her bodyguard, but he'd had her back last night. "I was the one who told him to look after Merlin. That's why he wasn't there for the fight. He was only following my orders."

"He isn't supposed to follow your orders, he's supposed to follow mine," Heather snapped.

That was it. First they talk about her like she isn't even there, then they try to belittle her. Gen had had enough of people treating her like she was beneath them for one day.

"Last time I checked, Heather, you weren't the crown princess. Thanks to your divorce, you aren't even nobility anymore, so stop trying to use these make-believe powers that you think you have and let the real leaders decide what's best for France," Gen fired back, her words unnecessarily cruel.

The temperature in the room went icy. Everyone noticed, even those who were not privy to the exchange. Papa lowered his paper, looking on with surprise. Beau's jaw had dropped and he made no move to close it, while Maman held onto her silverware with white knuckles, as if trying to restrain herself from saying something herself. Strangely enough, Heather looked the least affected. If anything, she blinked rapidly as if she could not believe the words sent her way and looked mildly annoyed

"Funny, I didn't think you were so attached to Henri," Heather replied with a thin smile, trying to maintain her composure.

"I'm not. I'm just tired of everyone's bullshit."

Again, there was silence followed by a tension so quick she could cut it with a knife. For a while, she and Heather just stared at each other, those blue eyes boring into her own, as if locked in a battle of wills. Gen was not going to back down. She had put up with a lot. Just this once, she would like things to go her way. When Heather's gaze finally did falter, whether willingly or unwillingly, Gen let out a silent sigh.

"Well, I can see I'm no longer wanted," Heather said as she got up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. "Enjoy the rest of lunch."

Everyone watched as Heather sauntered out of the dining room, her heels clicking the only sound that was made until the doors creaked open and then slammed shut. There was an awkward gap where everyone was afraid to speak, still confused as to what just happened yet unsure of how to proceed. It wasn't until Gen huffed and reached for the tray of croissants, ready to drown her feelings in carbs, that conversation commenced as usual.

"That was low, Geneviève. Even for you," Maman chided. Gen knew she had really fucked up when her mother used her full name.

"Whatever," Gen sighed frustratedly. "Can we just, talk about something else?"

"Fine," Maman said, pushing aside her papers. "Your father and I have an extra set of tickets to see Carmen at the Parisian Opera House tonight. We thought it might look good if you were to invite one of your Selected."

"To go on a double date with my parents?" Gen scoffed, reaching for the butter. "How romantic."

Her mother shot her a withering glare.

"Your father and I have been very lenient with you so far. We haven't prodded or poked. We haven't had the media intervene. We've let you do things your way. I think this is a simple request. This Selection could use some good press, especially after last night," she reminded. When Gen looked over to her father for back up, she only found him nodding in agreement with Maman. She hated it when they ganged up on her like that, and she had no choice but to comply.

"Do you have a preference on which one?" she grumbled, taking a large bite out of the warm, buttery croissant, reminding her that food was the only thing in this world worth loving.

"None whatsoever. Just so long as they wear a tux and don't make a mockery of us all."

The criteria was easy enough. Gen surveyed her suitors, trying to determine which one would be the lucky winner.

* * *

Standing outside with her hand poised to knock, Gen realized that she had never visited the Selected's Room before.

The notion had never crossed her mind. She knew that certain rooms of the palace had been reserved for the suitors to spend their days, but she just assumed that they would find ways to entertain themselves and had no need for her. Really, they were allowed anywhere within reason. She'd passed them in the halls, in the gardens, in the libraries, almost anywhere she could think. Now, it dawned on her that maybe they were doing all that exploring to seek her out. Maybe she should have been trying to put in more effort to see them.

She bit the bullet and knocked, the doors opening automatically. In Illéa, there was some stupid archaic rule where members of the opposite sex had to seek permission from the occupants to enter certain rooms, but none of that bullshit existed here. She didn't need an invitation to enter a room in her own home. She just strode in and everyone else would have to deal with it.

The boys were alarmed to see her. Clearly her presence was unexpected, though no one looked like they were going to make her leave. Everyone stood and stared at her until she insisted they go back to whatever it was they were doing. Most of them were chatting, a few were reading, others were goofing off and playing with the gaming system set up in the corner.

Again, Gen was faced with the fact that she had no idea what she was doing. She entered into their territory and now stood in the center of the room looking like an idiot.

After what felt like ages, her vision latched onto two familiar heads, and she made a bee-line for the sofa.

"Hey, how are you guys holding up?" Gen asked, sitting a safe distance away from Hugo. He was one of the standoffish ones, and she didn't feel like encroaching in his space was a good idea.

"Fine," he shrugged, exchanging a glance with Lucas Travert.

"Any word from Dante?" she continued, though neither of them looked very hopeful.

"Nothing," Hugo replied, nose wrinkling in distaste. "Some guards called us all out to this office in the basement before breakfast. We were let go pretty quick, but Dante was the one who threw the punches. He got held back."

"Punch. Just the one," Lucas amended, his body rigid with tension. He was nervous, that much was clear. "You're not going to kick him out are you?"

"I'm trying my best to keep him, but my mother is another story," Gen lamented. She knew how hard this must be as a Selected. Endangering the life of the princess could be considered treason, and none of them wanted to spend the rest of their barely-begun lives in prison. "Don't worry, I'll do my best to fix this."

"Yeah, I hope so," Hugo said. He didn't sound mean when he said it, just guarded, like he didn't know what to believe. She didn't blame him.

Giving what she hoped was a consoling smile, Gen got up and walked around the room until she finally saw who she wanted.

Arlo was leaned up against the back wall, staring out the window into the gardens. Even though it was winter and all the greenery was in hibernation, the gardens were still magnificent, covered in a white blanket of snow. During the time of the dissolution of the monarchy, France had opened up the gardens to the public, letting visitors from all over the world tour the magnificence of its past. After the war, when the monarchy was reinstated, Versailles once again became a private residence, but Gen always felt a lingering guilt that she would be one of the few to ever enjoy the gardens again. Maybe, when she was Queen of France, she would reinstate the tours. If she ever became queen, that was.

 _Of course I'll become queen_ , Gen admonished her runaway thoughts. _Just stick to the plan, and it'll all work out fine._

Except that plan had derailed itself spectacularly in the past night. Not only did she kiss a girl, she outed herself. Two strikes in the span of hours. Good going Gen, good going. This time it worked out, but there could be no next time. Because next time someone could go running to Maman or the tabloids could be lurking or someone could talk to the press, and everything would be ruined just like that. There was no more room for error.

So, putting her game face on, she strode up to the window with every intention of asking Arlo to the opera and continue the charade of being a perfect, prim, heteronormative princess.

"Hey where did you go last night? I thought we had movie plans," Arlo said as Gen stood in the space next to him.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but something else came up and I lost track of time," Gen apologized, hoping he wouldn't push for details. She was still decompressing from last night's trauma, and she would need at least another day or two and many, many drinks before she would be able to speak freely about the implications of what last night could have on her future. Telling another boy her deepest darkest secret so soon would not be beneficial for her mental health. It was like playing with fire, and she did not like getting burned.

She was about to bring up the opera, wanting to take him with her, but Arlo had something else on his mind.

"Are you replacing me?" Arlo asked with false hurt...or real hurt? Gen could have been mistaken, but normally he didn't ask such prying questions, or sound so touchy when asking.

"I have plenty of room in my heart for more friends."

" _Amis_ …that word again…" Arlo repeated, his lips pulling downward as he frowned. "You should be looking for a husband."

Arlo was being purposefully distant, and it made Gen annoyed. She knew she missed the movies, but shouldn't he be able to get over it? They were practically adults, not children throwing temper tantrums over hurt feelings.

"Am I not allowed to be friends with you anymore?" Gen asked, an irrational anger working its way through her body, making her skin prickle as she turned to face him even though he would not look her in the eye. Instead, he focused on his coffee as though it were the most interesting thing in the room and she didn't even exist. "Are you really this upset over me missing the Dying Poet's whatever?"

"One, it's the Dead Poet's Society. And two, after your comment I was going to introduce you to my love of Disney by watching The Lion King, but when you stood me up to start a fight club with your other boyfriends, I ended up watching Scar push Mufasa into the stampede alone instead."

She had no idea what that meant, but it didn't make the situation any less frustrating.

"Look, I'm sorry that I missed the movies. We can reschedule for some other time," Gen suggested.

"I don't care about a half-assed apology. And I sure as hell don't want some pity date where you feel like you're forced to spend time with me," Arlo said with contempt, frustration etched in the tense lines around his frown. "You were rude, Gen. You can't just tell someone something and then ditch them."

"I know that, but last night was really rough in ways that I can't even begin to explain, so I would appreciate a little slack," Gen replied, trying to keep her voice down to avoid prying eyes. They were already gaining attention, a few of the others stealing glances their way, wondering what was going on. Arlo didn't seem to care, gaze focused ahead while he kept his arms crossed firmly over his chest in a standoffish manner. What the hell was his problem anyway? Why was he getting so worked up over some stupid movies? It wasn't like they meant anything.

"Also, you're not even interested in me, so why do you care so much?"

That seemed to do it.

Arlo's head swiveled down to look at her, his face a mask of cold fury.

"You know what, you're right. But I don't like being pulled around on some leash. I don't want to be leading anyone on, especially my parents," Arlo explained, his eyes narrowing into determined, angry slits. "So if you're not interested, you should stop trying to spend so much time with me and go talk to other people."

"But I like hanging out with you," Gen protested.

"Tough shit. I'm not here to be your version of a gay best friend," Arlo shot back.

"Except that's exactly what you're here for. It's what we agreed to," Gen reminded him, hands on her hips.

"Agreements change."

She could not believe his nerve! It fired her up, made her so irrationally angry. It was one thing to be the one doing the rejecting, but to actually be rejected? That hurt. It hurt a lot, and it was not a good feeling. Even though they were only friends, it felt like a slap in the face, and the only thing she wanted to do was return the favor.

"Fine then," Gen huffed, taking in a deep breath and turning her back to him.

Then, she went up to the one person she knew Arlo hated the most.

"Lochan," Gen said as she approached the sofa where he sat alone, putting on her sweetest smile.

" _Oui, Votre Altesse_ ," he replied primly, lowering his book to his lap and gazing up at her expectantly.

"Do you enjoy the opera?"

"Very much so. Why do you ask?"

"My parents have tickets to see Carmen tonight at the Parisian Opera House. I would be delighted to take you as my plus-one."

The entire atmosphere in the room changed. Gen watched as Lochan became immensely more interested in the conversation. The smile on his face was self-satisfied, his chest subtly puffing out with pride. She could practically hear what he was thinking; that out of everyone in the room, she picked him to be her date for a public affair. She stood in the middle of the sitting room and chose _him_ for all the other suitors to see. It was a power play that spoke volumes, though she wasn't sure if it were her or Lochan who held the power.

"Then it is a date, _Votre Altesse."_

"Great."

It was done. She had a date. Her parents would be happy and Arlo could shove his ignorant head back up his ass.

Gen's eyes shifted across the room. Given their feelings on Lochan, a lot of the guys didn't know how to take this recent development. From his perch in the corner, Arlo was absolutely livid, his lips set in a firm line. The reaction should have been gratifying, but multiplied on every face in the entire room, she couldn't stave off the sense of trepidation.

What had she just done?


	17. Someone Call the Fat Lady

A/N: I assume all of you are going to want to punch Lochan after this. If I had the ability, or was in Gen's shoes, I totally would. But as an author, I had so much fun writing this chapter! I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for your love and continued support!

* * *

Someone Call the Fat Lady

Gen was having major regrets.

Even though it felt like she said it a lot lately, she had never regretted something so much in her entire life. Why did she have to be so damn stubborn? Why did Arlo have to get under her skin so damn easily?

Thinking back on her actions, she should have just asked Seb. She had been wanting to talk to him since their little walk in the snow, but hadn't found a free moment all day. She slept in until lunch, had that curve ball thrown at her, started a fight in the Selected's Room, and then promptly ran away to hide in her bedroom. Full schedule. Of course, now it was too late to keep hiding. She needed to get her ass in gear and get ready for the opera before her mother beat down the door and pulled her outside to freeze in her underwear. Which is exactly what she was going to wear if she didn't make up her mind on what dress to pick.

She didn't even like the opera! It would have been so much easier to just go in a pair of leggings, but there were bound to be press, and it would be beyond indecent to have the crown princess show up to one of the most refined cultural centers in the nation in the equivalent of her pajamas.

Both hands were full of hangers holding gowns almost as heavy as her body weight (which was saying something) when the doors to her room pushed open. There were few people who could enter without knocking. For a terrible second, she thought it was Beau to torment her, or worse, her mother to scold her. But neither were true, as the unexpected, slight form of her uniformed maid came into view.

Elyan was dressed in uniform, a silver tray in hand that contained a single piece of paper, as if nothing had changed.

"I thought I told you to take the day off," Gen huffed, out of breath from carrying the load of fabrics which she heaped in a messy pile on her bed.

"You did, but it is night now," Elyan replied rather vaguely. "Besides, I heard about the date and figured that you would need help getting ready."

Gen didn't argue with that. She needed all the help she could get. However, the thin lines etched into her maid's forehead, and the way her eyes were darting anywhere but Gen's face, gave Gen room to suspect something else was going on.

"What aren't you saying Ellie?"

Elyan sighed and placed the silver tray down on the side table, plucking off the folded piece of paper and handing it apprehensively towards Gen.

"I happened to run into Monsieur Bellerose's valet on my way here. He gave me a note to pass onto you."

"Oh? What is it?"

"A list, _Votre Altesse_ ," Elyan replied hesitantly, wringing her hands together in a nervous tick. "A list of requests for the night."

Gen took the note and glanced it over, getting more and more outraged with each elegantly written bullet.

 _\- Inquiries about childhood and adolescent years are expressly off-limits unless initiated by Monsieur Bellerose or an outside party_

 _\- The princess shall stand to the right of Monsieur Bellerose for all potential greetings and photographs_

 _\- Both parties shall remain a respectable distance of one arm's length from each other at all times_

"He can't be serious..." Gen said incredulously. There were more equally outlandish requests, but Gen had to stop reading for her own peace of mind. This had to be a joke! She was outraged by his gall, her blood starting to simmer under her skin. "Who the hell does he think he is?"

Elyan flinched, though she kept her head held high, as if anticipating this sort of reaction. Gen suddenly understood why Elyan cut her day off short. It wasn't just because Gen needed help getting ready. Gen was perfectly capable of clothing herself if she wanted. No, it was because Elyan wanted to deliver this news personally. Because she knew that if any other servant delivered this list, there would be even more hell to pay. At least Elyan was good at talking Gen down off of a ledge.

However, Elyan sucked in a deep breath, as if readying herself to deliver more bad news.

"The valet also told me that Monsieur Bellerose requests that your wear red this evening, preferably a darker shade like burgundy."

Gen looked down at the collection of dresses she had pulled from her wardrobe, most of them in shades of purple and blue as they matched her favorite cameo tiara. Gen did not particularly like red, as she thought it attracted too much negative attention from the press. Red made a statement, and despite the connotations of the Selection, the last thing she wanted was all of France to think she was trying to get into Lochan's pants.

"And if I refuse these ridiculous requests?" Gen asked haughtily, having half a mind to tear the note to shreds and have Elyan deliver it back to him.

"I assume it would make for a very long night."

There was truth to Elyan's words, Gen was reluctant to admit. A Selected this high maintenance was more than likely hard to please when he got everything he wanted. If Gen purposely went about making sure his requests were not fulfilled...well all she could imagine was a twenty six year old man throwing a temper tantrum in the opera house lobby. That was not the kind of impression she wanted to give the public about the Selection. Once more, Gen was faced with the absolutely stupidity of her actions, and cursed her impulsive nature.

Grumbling curses under her breath, Gen returned to her closet with Elyan in tow.

Thankfully, Gen did own a burgundy dress. It wasn't the most elaborate or glamorous piece in the closet, but the gown was elegant and appropriate to wear to the opera. Thin spaghetti straps rested lightly on her shoulders as Elyan sewed them tighter for a better fit. The chiffon layers draped in flowy layers to her ankles, the slight high-low effect creating a train that was only emphasized once she slipped on a pair of strappy black heels. Elyan pulled Gen's hair up into a simple chignon, and with a few rubies to her ears and wrist, Gen was ready to go.

"The night hasn't even started and I'm already exhausted," Gen complained, looking herself over in the mirror, always amazed at the miracles Elyan could work. "What if I just call this whole thing off and say I'm sick?"

"I think that you know that is a terrible idea," Elyan replied, fastening one final bobby pin in Gen's golden hair. "Don't let a list ruin what could be a good time. Or, a bearable one. All of Paris will be watching you; they want to see that the Selection is working and that their princess is happy and in love."

"But I'm not in love Elyan. Not even close."

"The people don't know that," Elyan reminded, spritzing Gen with perfume as a final touch. "Just try to have fun."

"It's the _opera_ ," Gen replied dryly. "Even if I weren't going with Lochan, there is no way to make the opera fun."

"You'll find a way," Elyan said encouragingly, pushing a black clutch into Gen's hands and steering her towards the door. "Now get a move on or you'll be late."

"What a shame..." Gen muttered under her breath.

Henri was waiting patiently outside the door, standing at attention. He nodded respectfully in Gen's direction, and then a little more casually towards Elyan, who smiled softly. If there was anything going on there, neither one of them gave anything away, which disappointed Gen. Though, if her prim and proper maid and James Bond-esque bodyguard were having some kind of fling, she supposed they would have the mind not to flaunt it. Elyan disappeared back into Gen's room in the next moment, and Henri stepped to the side so Gen could lead the way and he could linger in her shadow.

Everyone was planning to meet in the grand foyer, though there was only one person there as of yet: Lochan. He stood with his back to Gen, fixing the cuffs on his immaculately cut tux. This wasn't one of the ones the palace supplied the guys. No, this was quality; the kind of designer quality that would have Beau salivating over it. The tux was a classic black with a crisp white shirt underneath, the only color coming from the cummerbund wrapped around his waist in a deep shade of burgundy, and his ruby cufflinks.

 _Makes sense why he wanted red_ , Gen thought to herself. It was so they could match.

When Lochan heard her heels clicking on the tile floor, he turned and looked Gen up and down, as if assessing her appearance. He didn't seem too impressed.

"That'll do I suppose."

Gen was speechless. Completely stunned to the point where she almost tripped over her two feet, stumbling so that Henri had to catch her elbow and steady her. Every bone in her body wanted to slap Lochan, but she was being watched and so settled for a scathing glare instead.

"No, don't do that," Lochan chided, lips pulling down into a slight frown. "No one wants to see a woman without a smile - it isn't attractive."

She could feel the vein in her temple about to explode. Five minutes in, and she was ready to throttle this guy. Henri seemed to feel the same way, his grip tightening ever so slightly on Gen's arm though he kept his facial expression schooled into neutrality. No wonder the rest of the Selected hated him! He was a dick! And to think, she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt and cast off their first meeting blunder as nerves.

The arrival of her parents kept Gen from doing or saying something regrettable. They descended the steps with total grace and poise like all leaders should. Sometimes Gen still got star struck by her parents. Seeing them all dressed up, side by side, was one of those times.

"Maman, Papa," Gen greeted with a kiss on both of their cheeks which they happily returned.

Her mother looked glamorous, per usual, in an intricate powder blue and gold laced gown. A tiara sparkling with diamonds sat primly atop her head while pale blue jewels shimmered at her throat and ears. Her father wore a black tux similar to Lochan's, except the band at his waist was blue to match Maman's dress.

"Lochan Bellerose will be accompanying us tonight," Gen said, stepping to the side so that he could be more visible.

While her parents had seen her Selected and had meals with them every day, the royals had never actually met or had interactions with any of them one-on-one. Lochan usually chose to sit near the middle of the table, close enough to the action but far enough away that he rarely interacted with the princes and princesses, and he rarely - if ever - joined in general conversation. Gen had seen him talk to a few of the more forgettable Selected, but shared nothing even close to what she would consider true camaraderie.

Her mother was the first to step forward, eyeing Lochan with a detached interest.

"Monsieur Bellerose, it is a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine, _Vos Majestés_ ," he replied formally, bending at the waist as he addressed both Ahren and Camille. However, there was something pinched around his lips, like he had something sour tasting in his mouth when he spoke. It was well masked by flattery, but Gen was observant.

There was no more time for pleasantries. A butler came to let them know that the car was ready, and so the two couples headed into the winter night. It was especially cold that night, making Gen pull her wrap tightly around her shoulders though the silk material held little insulation.

The car ride itself was painfully silent. Her parents made small talk amongst each other, but it was clear they were censoring themselves as not to let Lochan know about any more secure matters of state. Lochan made no moves to initiate conversation, looking out the window a majority of the time, though he was painfully polite with each carefully-worded response.

When they arrived, Lochan made a show of getting out and opening Gen's door, even going as far as to fix her train as she stepped out of the car. It was a bit alarming, and Gen was not sure she liked being fussed over. Thankfully, she remembered about the right side request, managing to keep up with Lochan's long strides as they walked up the steps the to opera house. Cameras flashed and shouts from paparazzi came from all angles. Lochan seemed keen to stop for most of them, taking time to place a hand carefully around Gen's waist and hold her at a measured distance. They must have looked like such an odd couple, definitely not the love birds the people were expecting.

It was only a withering look from her mother at the top of the stairs that prompted Gen to put a pep in her step. Lochan seemed disappointed and annoyed to be rushed, more so when Gen took the lead and left him behind. Gen didn't much care; she would rather upset him than her mother.

There was nothing quite like the Parisian Opera House, nothing quite as grand or elegant...except for Versailles, but Gen saw the ins and outs of her beloved palace every day. The opera house held an unknown elegance, stone steps and intricate mural celings creating a sophisticated atmosphere. Guests lingered in the lobby, the upper crust of French society gathering by windows and exotic plants that lined the exquisite marble pillars.

Mostly, Gen was just glad it was heated.

She separated from her parents early on, the Princess and Prince Consort having hands to shake and babies to kiss and the like. Since Gen was only a queen in training, not a long-established fixture in French government, her responsibilities to make nice with the other rich snobs in the room were limited. She could pick and choose who she wanted to see, while her parents looked like they were stuck with a group of elderly members of the national bank.

" _Bon soir_ Senator Lambert," Gen smiled upon greeting the only politician she could stand. It was saying something that she would rather engage with politicians than her own date.

" _Votre Altesse_!" the portly man cried jovially, dipping into a bow and kissing her hand, his mustache tickling her knuckles. He had always reminded Gen of Père Nöel...if Père Nöel smoked cigars like a chimney and had a shiny bald patch atop his salt and pepper head. "Always a pleasure to see such a lovely face!"

"May I introduce you to my date, Lochan Bellerose."

"A pleasure, a pleasure," the senator said amicably, though he only gave Lochan a passing glance. "One of your little boyfriends, I suppose?"

Gen startled, but only for a moment as she remembered how loose-lipped the older man was. Then again, it was an unfortunate habit that all Parisians carried, herself included, and the trait only seemed to be magnified in Paris' own senator. Leave it to the people to elect officials who were most like themselves. Though, Gen supposed that was the point of the vote after all.

"My Selected, yes," she corrected gently.

He hummed in approval, fat fingers pinching his cigar as ashes dropped to the floor.

"When your mother first presented the council with the idea, I was shocked! Shocked I say! The Selection has always been such an Illéan tradition!"

" _D'accord_. Grossly Illéan," Lochan commented, though Gen could tell the senator really wasn't his cup of tea. Senator Lambert was an acquired taste. Gen had no choice but to get used to him from a young age, as he seemed to be in office for as long as Grandmère let Gen sneak into council meetings. Which was a long time, in case anyone was counting.

Gen shot Lochan a confused look, unsure of what he meant by 'grossly', but her expression was overlooked by the curious gaze Senator Lambert was now giving Lochan.

" _Oui, oui,_ but such forward thinking!" the senator exclaimed, his face growing red with exertion. "Revolutionary, one might say, and we all know that France is the home of revolution."

" _Oui_...nothing more forward than the idea of an arranged marriage," Gen said sarcastically, though her light tone kept the unsuspecting senator from noticing.

"Too true, too true," Senator Lambert laughed, thinking it all a joke. "Though, tell me if I am mistaken, but the most alarming of rumors has reached my ears and I must know if it is factual."

Gen felt her heart rate increase. A thousand different things flooded her mind all at once. Her first thought was that the press somehow got word of her bathroom kiss with Illeana. The second was that Grandmère was dying, which while true, was not something her mother would appreciate spreading around. Swallowing thickly, Gen nodded, waiting for the bomb to drop.

The senator leaned in conspiratorially, though he did nothing to adjust his volume as he said, "I heard that you were attacked by some of these boys you're keeping in Versailles!"

Gen exhaled a breath of relief before she realized that the press hadn't had access to that particular bit of information.

"Senator...who told you that?"

"This is Paris, dear girl, word gets around, especially when it involves our beloved royal family," he said as he shook his head, as if she should have known. And he was right. She should have. The staff weren't exactly tight-lipped; the amount of shit talking they did about one another was insane. It only made sense that they go home and tell their friends and family wild stories from the palace, confidentiality contracts be damned.

"Well, you have no need to worry. It was all a misunderstanding. I was quite safe. Maman has had a bodyguard placed by my side at all times, and he is very good at what he does. He's right over there," Gen assured as she gestured towards where Henri was slowly walking the perimeter for what was probably the hundredth time.

"Ghastly business," Lochan disapproved, his frown deepening. "I always knew that the Italian had a temper, but I suppose I should not be surprised about Dante. You cannot expect perfect manners to come from someone so lowborn."

The words had Gen at a loss. How was she supposed to respond to that? She didn't even know that people still thought like that. Even more appalling was the fact that the senator was nodding in fervent agreement.

"Arlo has quite the temper as well. Perhaps you should keep an eye on him," Lochan advised, as if he had the right to do so.

"Perhaps," Gen mused darkly, knowing full well what Lochan was doing. "Though, I have to wonder if that is genuine advice, or simply stemming from a seat of animosity between you two. I know you're not the best of friends."

"Friends, hardly," Lochan scoffed, as if the very idea was offensive. "I am simply looking out for your wellbeing, _Votre Altesse_. It is evident that you are quite... _attached_ to him, and I would hate to see you get hurt."

"He's good company. A good friend."

"Hmmm," Lochan mused, as if presented with a particularly interesting piece of information. "I wonder if he knows that."

Gen did not like that tone, nor its implications. In fact, she was tired of discussion the other Selected. It felt like anything she said could be taken the wrong way, and she did not want to add more kindling to the flames that grew between Lochan and the others. So, she turned to the Senator Lambert, gave her most winning smile, and ended the conversation altogether.

"Senator, please excuse us. We should get to our seats. The show is about to start."

"Of course, of course! Lovely to see you, _Votre Altesse_ ," the senator bid farewell, though he had already long since lost interest in the conversation and was walking towards his next means of entertainment. Gen was not sad to see him go, though she was sad to be left alone with Lochan.

"By all means, lead the way."

Lochan stepped to the side and gestured for Gen to go ahead. To anyone looking on, Lochan would appear to be quite the gentlemen. Gen knew better by now. She was just another player in his dog and pony show.

The royal box, as well as the other private boxes, were placed in a prime spot - center stage on the mezzanine level. Red velvet curtains barricaded their seats from the rest, a butler stationed near the entrance to make sure no unseemly guests lingered too close to the upper crust. Gen always thought the amount of class separation was ridiculous; if someone could afford to go to the opera, then they were already uppity. However, Lochan seemed to be right in his element, enjoying the regimented old-fashionedness.

Her parents were already seated, taking the furthermost two seats - all of which were upholstered with red velvet to match the curtains and gilded with gold accents as if the plush material was not already pretentious enough. However, it made for a comfy place to recline. At least if she was to suffer through multiple hours of relentless singing, she wouldn't worry about a stiff back. Her mother had opera glasses in hand, her father checking his watch. They seemed indifferent to both she and Lochan's arrival, talking quietly amongst themselves. She took the row behind them, as not to disturb.

Gen fixed her eyes on the stage, willing the lights to dim and the curtains to rise faster so that she would not be subjected to any more conversation.

Unfortunately, she was not that lucky.

"I must commend you on your taste, _Votre Altesse_ ," Lochan said, though his gaze was also fixed on the stage. "I was growing increasingly concerned that all Selection outings were not going to be as _refined_ as I expected."

"Refined?"

"Surely I don't have to explain that to you," Lochan replied, seemingly put out by what he thought was an obvious statement. "Dinners are one thing, but dress fittings and playdates with the young prince hardly seem like the appropriate setting to get to know someone."

"I think getting on with my siblings is an important quality in any person who wishes to spend the rest of their life with me," Gen ruffled, sitting up a little straighter, ready to defend her family in a second.

"How _charming_ ," he simpered, his smile less than genuine.

The lights dimmed, and Gen had never been so glad for silence in her entire life. Anything that shut Lochan up and kept her from committing murder was a good thing...even if the want to call Henri and tell him to rough the snobbish prick up out back was strong.

The opera itself was a sedative. As soon as the actors came on stage, their robust voices filling the theater, Gen felt the overwhelming urge to fall asleep. There was something about those types of settings: warm with lots of background noise and dimly lit, that made sleep so appealing. The same thing happened when Maman used to take her to Evangeline and Delphine's ballet recitals when they were children. It wasn't that she was trying to be rude; she just couldn't help it.

All four acts went by in a time warp. Maybe she really had fallen asleep, because the next thing Gen knew, the lights were rising and people were making for the exit. Stealing a glance at the phone in her clutch, she realized that it was far too late for intermission. The opera was really over. She was free.

No one wanted to talk much after the show, not even the boisterous Senator Lambert. A handful of passerbys spoke a few words to her parents and wished she and Lochan a good night, but everyone was just as eager as she was to leave. Once more, Gen left her parents behind as she pushed forward into the night. It was even colder now that it had been dark a good while, her breath frosting into puffs around her face. Strangely, she wanted Dante's sweater, convinced it could have kept the cold at bay.

"Lovely, don't you think?" Lochan asked, reminding Gen of his presence that she had been actively trying to forget.

"What was lovely?"

"The performance," he elaborated.

"Yeah, sure," Gen shrugged noncommittally, if only because she knew admitting that she would have rather drilled holes in her head was the incorrect response.

"I've seen better renditions, of course, but I find that the aria in the second act is always a pleasure to listen to."

 _Unlike your voice,_ Gen quipped mentally.

Gen spotted the car near the front of the valet carousel, the driver standing patiently outside the passenger side door. Henri was standing nearby, surveying the area for any potential threats. When he saw she and Lochan descending the steps, he moved closer as to escort them personally.

Henri must have noticed the weariness in her eyes and her desperate expression, because the first thing he did was place one strong hand on her shoulder and ask, "Are you alright, _Votre Altesse_?"

"She is _fine_ ," Lochan hissed, cutting in between them so that Henri was pushed back. "Now would you mind standing aside and doing your job?"

Henri was stunned, his jaw clenched tightly as if wondering if he had a decent reason for disabling Lochan. Gen was outraged. She stepped away from Lochan, his touch feeling more like a prison, making her skin crawl. Making snide comments and pushing her around was one thing. But pushing other people close to her around? That was unacceptable.

"You can't talk to him like that!" Gen protested, feeling shame and embarrassment flush through her cheeks at what Lochan had said.

"Why ever not?"

"He is my bodyguard, not a dog!"

"A bodyguard who seemed to have forgotten his place in the established hierarchy," Lochan replied snidely, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. It was obvious that he did not wish to quarrel in such a public setting, but too bad. Gen was tired of his shit.

"I cannot believe you!"

"I do not understand why you are so upset," Lochan sighed, looking down at Gen as if she were some child throwing a tantrum, patience at an end. "Now would you please get in the car and stop making a spectacle of yourself?"

"And you cannot talk to me like that!" Gen commanded. She'd put up with his sense of entitlement all night. No more. "I am the Crown Princess of France - not even my equals address me as you have."

Gen hated pulling rank. Though she often did it in a joking fashion, there was nothing worse than having to do it for real. She hated how tyrannical it made her sound, but there were some times when it was the only option.

"I think it is laughable that you see us as equals," Lochan scoffed, though it was abundantly clear that it was he who thought himself higher than her. Lochan's ego and self-importance had blinded him to some very simple basics of life, and while he could think himself God all he wanted in the privacy of his own home, he was in her playground now. It was about time he got a reality check.

"You're absolutely right. We're not equals," she agreed, a sugar sweet smile plastered on her lips that only widened as she took in Lochan's carefully crafted confusion. "I'm your superior."

Lochan did not like that answer. Not at all.

"I think I'll get in the car now," Gen decided, still staring icily into Lochan's enraged eyes. "Feel free to come along. Or walk. I don't really care."

Gen turned on her heel, not waiting for his response.

What a great way to end the night.

* * *

As soon she arrived in front of Versailles, Gen did not hesitate to escape the car. She did not wait for Lochan or the driver to open her door. She did not even wait for her parents. She jumped out of the vehicle and hustled to the steps, taking them two at a time, trying to put as much distance between she and this terrible night.

She all but sprinted down the halls, making sure there was no chance someone could catch her, try to get her to slow down or talk. All Gen wanted to do was curl up in bed and erase Carmen from her mind, the ear-splittingly high notes screeching through her ears with the intensity of a freight train. Or maybe that was her heart screaming at her stupidity as she failed yet another date. She could only hope that the press was not around at such a late hour to capture that little spat, but she knew she was asking too much. Someone saw, and someone would talk. _C'est la vie._

Elyan had already left by the time Gen got to her room, though the kind maid did leave out a tray of tea and coffee, as well as a few of Gen's favorite snacks.

 _Bless that girl_ , Gen praised. Of course Elyan would know exactly how to cheer her up without even being there.

But before she even thought about drowning out her negative feelings in junk food, Gen had to get out of that dress. She never wanted to see burgundy again. She threw her shawl over the couch and angrily kicked her heels off so that they scuffed the floor. Elyan was going to love cleaning that up in the morning. Gen could feel blisters forming on the sides of her toes; just another thing to add to the list of why this night sucked.

Moving over to the vanity, Gen dug her fingers into her crunchy locks. She was half way done pulling out pins when someone rapped on the door.

Gen looked up and realized that she had forgotten to shut the door all the way, light from the hall filtering in through the gap, illuminating the dark and lanky frame of Arlo Moreau.

"Hey."

"Hey," she replied, surprised to see Arlo leaning in her doorway looking like an apprehensive shadow.

"You look really pretty," he muttered, though she could not make out his expression from such dim lighting. She could only be wary that he was being serious.

"Thanks…"

Gen patted the now-wrinkled length of her gown, overly conscious about how tired she must seem. Her hair was half falling out due to the lack of support. Her feet were bare, and she was certain that her makeup was smudged, revealing dark circles under her eyes and the thin lines around her mouth from scowling at Lochan so much.

It seemed like ages passed before he asked, "How was the opera?"

"Great. It was a uh…great time," Gen lied, her tone so fake it hurt her own ears.

"Great," was all Arlo replied with. He sounded so detached, and Gen flinched.

They stood in silence for a while. Gen idly picked at more bobby pins, her hair finally coming undone around her shoulders. Arlo just stood and watched. It was awkward, not because of the watching, but because of the tension that Gen knew she should break. She'd been wanting to apologize ever since she said those things in the Selected's Room. However, she was still too stubborn to make this easy on herself.

"I hated it. Every second of it," she admitted eventually. "I was a jerk to you, and I pulled a bitch move by taking Lochan. Honestly, I only took him to piss you off, which only ended up biting me in the ass. I was way out of line, and I owe you a really big apology."

"Yeah, you do," he agreed, not even trying to deny it. "But, I'm sure a night with him was worse than any punishment my mind could have concocted. And as my sister so lovingly pointed out to me on the phone, I owe you an apology as well. So, I'm sorry for acting like a dick earlier."

"And I'm sorry for missing movie night. I really am. Believe it or not, I was actually looking forward to learning about dead poets."

"That's not even the plot," Arlo sighed, though his tone took on a friendlier note. There was even a hint of a laugh in there.

He looked like he wanted to come inside, wavering in the opening, so Gen gestured for him to enter. For a moment, panic spread through her system as she realized that none of her Selected, or any other male outside her brothers and father and recently Henri, had ever been inside her room. Arlo didn't seem too judgmental, taking a sweeping look over everything with mild curiosity.

Gen went over to the snacks Elyan had laid out and offered Arlo a cookie, knowing he liked that brand in particular. He accepted without hesitation, which made Gen smile. However, as he got closer, she could tell he still had something on his mind.

"You said something came up that night…what was it? What was so important?"

 _Just tell him the truth you idiot!_ her heart screamed.

 _Protect yourself at all costs!_ her head revolted.

So, she settled for a mix of both.

"The fight it…it really messed me up…more than I though it would. I needed to get out of there, and Seb, he uh, took me to go get ice cream. Thought it would cheer me up, and by the time I realized how late it was, it was too late to do anything."

Arlo chewed on his cookie thoughtfully.

"So Seb…that's my competition?"

"He's not competition," Gen chided lightly, not liking the idea of the boys fighting over her anymore. "He's my friend. Just like you are my friend…right?"

"Yeah. Friends," he agreed, the smile on his face tentative and somewhat sad, though Gen could not fathom why. "I should probably go back to my room before your bodyguard finds me and freaks out."

Gen was inclined to agree. Henri had pressure on him to be extra vigilant since the fight broke out, and the last thing Gen wanted was for Arlo to get hurt or have broken bones over an innocent misunderstanding.

"I'll see you in the morning, yeah?" she asked, unable to keep the hopeful edge from coloring her words.

"Breakfast. Nine o'clock sharp," Arlo said with a two-fingered salute, pushing himself off of the doorframe. "Goodnight, princess."

" _Bonne nuit_ , Monsieur Moreau."

Gen smiled, feeling a bit lighter than before.

Perhaps something good came out of this night after all.


	18. Paint Me Like One Of Your French Girls

A/N: This one reads like a filler chapter in the beginning, and I'm a little upset about it, but it's got some important bits and the end is a lot better. I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for your continued support and love!

* * *

Paint Me Like One of Your French Girls

After two not so great nights in a row, Gen decided she needed a break from boys and spent a day in her office instead.

She didn't even go to breakfast; she just grabbed the coffee Elyan brewed and headed into work. It wasn't really her office per say, more like the one she shared with her mother. But Maman took over Grandmère's office more often than not these days, which meant that Gen had the entire room to spread out. Unfortunately, she had not been in the office since she left for Illéa, which meant that the first files she came face to face with were the Saudi ones. Her stomach dropped when she saw them, feeling stupid about how naive she had been about Samara. Gen always wanted to believe the best in her, because Gen always saw the best in her. But New Years had made it abundantly clear that Samara had no one on her mind but herself, and would never have time for a blonde haired, blue eyed Parisian princess.

With a heavy heart, Gen pushed the files into the trash can and replaced them with the Selected's files. Not that those made her feel any better, but at least they were relevant. The pile was considerably smaller than when she first got it. Ten of the boys had been sent home already, none of them remarkable, which meant that twenty five smiling faces were all that were left. Unfortunately, the first file she opened was Lochan's, which only made her scrunch her nose up and groan. She shoved the file to the side, not even caring that she had spilled a few drops of coffee in her haste.

Before she could even think about the Selection, there were other, more pressing matters to deal with. Gen had a long list of apologies to make. The first was Arlo, which went rather well. The second would not be as easy.

A knock on the door drew her attention, opening to reveal her first appointment.

"You asked to meet with me?" Heather Bloomsdale asked, her neutral tone belying any animosity she may have harbored.

Once more, Gen was struck by how intimidating those blue eyes were. They studied her, as if trying to read the situation before anything was said.

"Please, sit down," Gen insisted, pushing her folders to the side.

Heather walked in and lowered herself primly into the leather-backed chair, crossing one ankle over the other and folding her hands in her lap. She held herself with the trained rigidity of someone who had sat through many uncomfortable, tense political meetings. With lips pursed in a thin line, looking expectantly at Gen with rapt attention, all Heather needed was a briefcase and Gen could pretend she was meeting with an attorney or her dietician. Worse was that Heather did not crack. She was not going to give Gen a single inch, which did not help Gen's unyielding stubbornness.

"I'm sorry," Gen said in a rush of breath, ripping off the bandaid even though it hurt her pride. Still, she felt better after it was done. "What I said to you yesterday was not okay. I guess I was sort of wrong, but you've got to admit you can be kind of a bitch."

For a second, Gen though she was going to get smacked. Or struck down by the power of the almighty Heather Bloomsdale. Instead, Heather only rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I suppose that is as good an apology as I will ever get from you," she lamented, though she was subtly smiling. "And here I thought I would never meet anyone more stubborn than myself."

Then, Gen knew it was appropriate to laugh. They had buried this particular hatchet for now, and both women found themselves relaxing. Heather sat back in her chair and took the time to look around the room, particularly at the mess that graced Gen's desk. She picked up the coffee-stained file nearest her curiously.

"The Selected's files?"

"I've been doing some research," Gen replied vaguely, doubting that now would be a good time to explain her method of elimination to the woman who was supposed to be setting her up with 'The One'.

"On Lochan Bellerose?" she asked as she opened the one in her hand, one eyebrow arched. "I presume the date did not go well then?"

"A total disaster," Gen complained as she deflated, sagging over her desk until her head was on the mahogany. "How did you know?"

"Besides the look of absolute dread on your face when I mentioned his name?" Heather asked skeptically, gaze flickering briefly from Gen back to the file. "You look as stiff as a stick in the mud in all of your photos."

"Was it that bad?" she asked, leaning up a little so she could see Heather better.

Heather hummed, hints of pity glittering in those blue eyes. "I think the media is trying to play it up as nerves, but anyone who knows you well can tell that you'd rather be anywhere but there. I think I've seen corpses with more enthusiasm."

Gen knew that Heather wasn't trying to be mean, but her comments didn't make Gen feel any better about the situation. She had one shot to get the public and her parents off her back, and due to a spur of the moment terrible decision, she had blown it.

"He was such an ass. Like, I'm sorry but there's no other way to put it," Gen complained, throwing her head back down on the desk. "I want to eliminate him, but I'm torn."

"How so?"

"His family is crazy rich, and connected. He knows how to talk to politicians, and can tolerate the limelight. He has his shit together and can hold his own, so it's not like he would need constant attention if I had to go to a conference in another country or was gone for a month at a time," Gen rationalized, as if trying to find a silver lining on a storm cloud. "I feel like he's the type of person my parents would want to pair me with. Not that they know he's a douchecanoe, but on paper, he's pretty damn perfect."

"Those are good reasons to keep him in the running," Heather agreed, still annoyingly neutral. "But how do you feel?"

"Like I want to punch him in the teeth."

That was an understatement. She wanted to punch him in the teeth until he had no teeth left to patronize her with, then let the guys take their turn with the rest. She knew a few of them in particular would be less than sympathetic to his smarmy charms and pleas for mercy.

"So you are going to suffer through dating a man you cannot stand for the sake of pleasing your parents and country?" Heather surmised, and Gen nodded. Heather leaned back in her chair, expression pensive as she took this information in. "I suppose I underestimated your dedication to the Selection process."

Oh, if only Heather knew the true extent of her dedication. If only she knew how much she was already doing to please the monarchy.

Gen was about to say something when a knock on the door drew both women's attention. They exchanged a confused glance before Gen called the visitor in. Most people made an appointment to see her when she was in the office, and she had sworn she'd told Elyan to spread the word that she was working today. Unless this was Beau who was itching for an update session for all the gossip he'd missed. She knew the longer she waited to see him, the worse that conversation would be. Or worse, it could be Delphine prepared to make some snarky comment about how many days she'd taken off and how the layer of dust on the windowsill was indicative of how well she'd run the country during her tenure.

Instead, a deeply tanned blond with a wide smile poked his head through the door, only to have it falter when he realized that Gen had company.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt, but can I ask you something?"

"Uh sure..." Gen trailed off, looking nervously between Heather and Ulysse, unsure of what to do.

"I'll leave you two to talk," Heather said graciously, getting up and smoothing down her skirt.

"No, you're fine Madame Bloomsdale. This'll only take a second," Ulysse insisted, pushing the door open further so that his whole body was visible, including his panicking as Heather looked like she was going to leave.

Heather slowly settled back down in her chair, eyeing Ulysse with mild curiosity. Gen's look was similar.

"What is it?" Gen asked, confused as to why he was visiting during office hours.

"I was wondering if you would let me have some time off from the Selection?"

The request was so odd, Gen thought she might have to hear it twice.

"Time off?"

"Yeah, just for the night. I'll be back before anyone notices I'm gone."

"Why? What's going on?"

This had to be something really important to him if he was asking for a special pardon. Gen's mind jumped to the worse case scenarios first: a death in the family or a personal trauma. Had the boys been fighting again? Or maybe it was something else, like this was his way of saying he wanted out because he'd decided he'd had enough of her fuckery. She could deal with kicking people out without feeling anything, but to have someone walk out on her...she didn't think she could handle that. Rejection did not suit her one bit.

The real answer was not what she expected at all.

"I've got this gallery opening tonight downtown. I set it up before I knew I was picked for the Selection. I couldn't pass up on an opportunity to get my name out there just for the one in a million chance of being selected...and then the impossible happened and I can't back out of the venue now. Also, it would look pretty bad if I didn't show up to my own grand opening. Not that it's _grand_...or at least I _hope_ it will be..."

He was rambling, and Gen found it somewhat endearing (and also relieving that he wasn't straight up ditching her). This was obviously a big deal, and Gen was all for supporting the arts, so how could she say no?

"Ulysse, it's okay. I get it," Gen assured, hoping he would hear her over his continued speech. "You can take the night off."

"Really? You're a life saver," Ulysse said, a grateful smile on his face as he looked visibly relieved. "Thank you Gen."

"No problem," she replied, glad to have been helpful. "I hope you have a _grand_ time."

He smiled dopily and backed out of the office with a rushed wave and goodbye to Heather. The warm feeling in Gen's chest let her know that what she did was the right thing.

"That was kind of you," Heather commented, her tone not suggesting anything bad nor good about it.

"I can't take away what is important to these guys just because they decided to take a risk and date me," Gen explained, chewing on her bottom lip as an idea came to mind. "Maybe I should get a group together to go to the gallery and surprise Ulysse."

Gen's gaze flickered over towards Heather. She realized that, as Selection Coordinator and her mentor, this might be something that Heather would appreciate being asked her opinion on. An olive branch on the path to making amends.

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

Heather smiled a genuine smile as she replied, "I think that is a wonderful idea. It could even get you some good press to make up for the opera."

"Alright. I'll add 'knocking on doors' to the to-do list," Gen said as she wrote down another bullet on her ever-growing agenda. "Do you think Neelam would want to come?"

"Yes, but don't ask her," Heather sighed, weary lines appearing on her face at the mention of her daughter.

"Why not?"

"Part of our agreement of me bringing her here was that she keep up with her studies. She's been shirking them as of recently to go searching for secret passageways, so I've put her under room arrest until the papers are completed in full," Heather explained, her tone tired as if Neelam had already sucked this battle out of her.

"She's like, super smart though."

"In subjects that interest her. Try getting her to do calculus...it's like pulling teeth."

Gen shivered. She did not blame Neelam for running away from that. As someone who had been tutored in strictly politics, history, and literature and barely survived, Gen didn't envy those who were forced to learn other subjects.

"Well, good luck with that," Gen saluted, knowing that Heather had her work cut out for her.

"You as well," she replied, getting up and walking out the office.

Now, it was time to be productive. With what, Gen had yet to determine. She slashed 'apologize to Heather' off of her list. One thing down, a million more to go.

* * *

It was nearing the evening when Gen finally got out of her office.

She'd gone through three cups of coffee and an entire bag of kettle chips but had managed to get some of the paperwork Maman had arranged for her done. It was a small dent in the large scheme of things, but she felt like she was doing her part. The fact that there was stuff waiting for her at all during the Selection only pointed at the desperation the government was for extra hands to pick up the ailing queen's slack. Gen had no idea how her mother did it. Maybe that was why Maman seemed more like a machine than a mother these days. This work just sucked the life right out of you...which was frankly scary given how Gen was tumbling head first into it.

She was so distracted that she hadn't even noticed that her feet were taking her to the Hall of Mirrors. So distracted that she ran smack into someone and sent herself sprawling to the ground.

"Sorry!" came the deep, concerned voice from above.

Gen held her head from where it had made impact with a very strong, firm chest. She hadn't broken or twisted anything on her fall, just bruised her butt. It would be sore later, she could tell. The person reached down and helped Gen up, pulling her to her feet in a single sweep. Without the glare from the sun, Gen could look and see that she had run into none other than Dante.

"You're still here," she stated rather dumbly.

It had only been two days but felt like longer since she had seen him last. Maybe it was because that night felt like a year. Maybe it was because people had started to talk as though he were already gone. But he looked the same, dressed in dark denim jeans and another soft sweater. The only thing that stood out was his right hand which was wrapped tightly with a bandage. Obviously Salvatore was not the only one to come out of that scuffle with some bruises.

"Did you want me to go?" he asked, looking rather hurt, and she felt worse.

"No!" Gen replied quickly, startled by her own intensity. "I'm glad you're staying."

"Good to hear," he said, sounding relieved. A tentative smile spread across his face as he noticed her particular wardrobe selection for the day. "You, uh, still have my sweater I see."

"Oh, yeah…it's comfy," Gen replied lamely, pulling her arms tightly across her torso. Bundled up in all her layers, she felt warmer, more secure than she had the other night when she was exposed both emotionally and physically. It had been rough few days for everyone involved, and she felt terribly that she had dragged so many people down with her bullshit. "Thank you. Not for the sweater - though it's a great sweater - but for the other thing. I don't think I said it before."

"Don't thank me," Dante insisted, his expression taking on that same pained one it had in the hall right after he'd hit Salvatore - like there was some kind of inner turmoil lying just under the surface. "I…I'm not much a violent person...at all. Actually I'd never punched anyone before, and I'm not particularly proud of it."

"Then why did you?"

"Because he was saying awful things…and I couldn't stand them. Couldn't stand _for_ them. Someone had to do something. Someone had to protect your honor."

Gen fought the urge to scoff at such an outdated notion.

"I can protect my own honor."

"I know, but you shouldn't have to."

This guy really knew how to pull at her heartstrings, and the craziest thing was, was that he wasn't even trying to play her. This was genuine Dante. He was just a naturally great guy who punched assholes who were mean to her, not because he thought she couldn't handle herself, but because she shouldn't have to. Like, how perfect did someone have to be? And it was just so damn unfair that he was a guy because Gen was pretty sure that if he were the opposite sex, she would have cancelled this Selection right now and married him on the spot.

She shuffled her feet and chewed on her lip, conflicted about what to say next. How did one follow up to a statement like that? In a rom-com, this was when the main character ran into her lover's arms as she confessed her undying love and they had a sappy, intimate moment. But this was not a rom-com, and while she was the main character in this Selection, there would be no running into anyone's arms and no undying love. However, that did not mean there had to be nothing at all.

"I want to take you out."

She caught him off guard (herself too, if she were being totally honest). Dante's brow furrowed, his posture growing defensive, and Gen had no idea why. She thought he would be happy.

"I didn't do what I did to get a date."

"I know," Gen replied, using his own assuredness from earlier against him. "Now do you want to go out with me or not?"

Maybe it was the blunt way she was asking, straight and to the point, that convinced him, or maybe it was the fact she was wearing his sweater two days later. Either way, the doubt disappeared and was replaced with the elation she anticipated in the first place.

"Y-yes," Dante stuttered, struggling to make proper words. "I would love to."

"Great. I'll keep you posted," Gen flashed a smile and rocked back on her heels, unsure of what to do now that they'd gotten that squared away. "In the mean time, keep that iced and stay out of trouble."

"Can do," Dante agreed, ducking his head as he sheepishly tucked his bandaged hand out of sight. For such a big guy, he was like one giant puppy, and that only made Gen more inclined to like him.

"On a different note, I'm trying to gather a group of guys to go to Ulysse's art gallery tonight. I thought it might be nice to show some support and surprise him. Are you interested?"

"Normally, I would say yes, but I don't think I'm up for an adventure just yet," Dante said apologetically.

"That's fine," Gen shrugged, though she was actually a tad disappointed. "It's your loss. I've been told his stuff is really good."

"I'm sure it is," Dante agreed, taking a step back. "Have fun, Gen. I'll see you later."

* * *

By the time it came to roll out for the gallery, Gen had manage to scrounge together a passable amount of Selected.

Unsurprisingly, most of the guys had better things to do than look at a few paintings, and so chose to stay behind. Some guys, like Arlo, she could not find for the life of her. And others, like Lochan and her brother, she 'forgot' to invite altogether. And so, it came down to a handful of unmemorable dudes, Hugo, and Lucas Travert. Henri also came, of course, but he didn't really count as part of the group because he would probably spend too much time creeping behind random people instead of appreciating the art.

The gallery itself was downtown in a former-train-station-turned-studio. The idea was so entirely laughable that Gen had to make sure the driver was going to the right place. But no, the facade of the old station was refurbished, lights strung around the front doors in a welcoming warm glow. Hipsters were crawling around the place, smoking their hand-rolled cigarettes and adjusting their Harry Potter glasses as they congregated in small groups. She and her entourage of boys looked very out of place, but she didn't stick around to talk to any of the passerbys.

The vibe inside was very minimalistic. Sure, the old grand arches and intricate detail in the architecture still remained, but the walls were painted a stark white and the floor was a simple, brushed concrete. Pillars stood periodically to support the weight of the high ceilings. The building had more than one floor, as was evident from the outside, but the gallery only occupied the first floor, paintings of various shapes and sizes hanging on the walls. They were all scenic or portrait pieces, and judging by the sheer number, Gen wondered if they were all Ulysse's, or if he was sharing the spotlight with someone else.

They found Ulysse standing talking with a few people, a glass of red wine in hand. He looked pretty much the same as he normally did: his dark blond hair was pulled up into a bun on top of his head, the scruff on his chin neatly trimmed and black glasses perched on his nose. He wore a graphic teeshirt but instead of a flannel, he had a sport jacket thrown over top, and his jeans were a darker wash and lacking their usual tiny tears and splatters of paint. Gen figured that was probably as formal as Ulysse got, but it worked for him.

Lucas was the first to break from the pack, rushing up to Ulysse and interrupting his conversation, unable to keep his excitement to himself.

"Gen...? Guys...?" Ulysse asked upon processing the intrusion, completely shocked to see them there. "What are you doing here?"

"To support you of course," Gen explained, as if it were obvious.

"I...don't know what to say."

"How about, thanks for showing up - you are the best friends a guy could ever ask for and I am completely unworthy?" Lucas supplied, grinning widely as Ulysse chuckled along.

"Seriously though, this is an awesome surprise," Ulysse said, then suddenly became a bit nervous. "So, what do you think so far?"

"That you've been seriously holding out on us during pictionary," Hugo joked, and by the way the guys started laughing, Gen supposed that was an inside thing.

"And here you had me thinking you were a novice," Gen commented lightheartedly.

"I've been at this for a few years now. Nothing too serious," Ulysse brushed it off, as if the masterpieces on the wall were finger-paints, which seemed like a crime.

"Ulysse, you're totally selling yourself short. This is incredible!"

"Yeah dude, you've got real skill!" Lucas commended, looking around the room with wide eyes, soaking in the vibrant colors like a kid in a candy shop. He had dressed to match as well: a brightly colored, patterned shirt and purple bowtie proudly on display.

"Thanks guys," he smiled, bashful and a bit overwhelmed by all the attention. "I've got some more people to talk to, but feel free to take a look around. There's snacks over there if you want."

Lucas didn't have to be told twice, and neither did Hugo. Food was like a magnet to boys. When it appeared, everything else disappeared. Not that she was judging. Food was a magnet for her too, and her stomach growled at the sight of some really good looking meatballs. However, it simply was not meant to be.

"Not you Gen!" Ulysse called, pulling her back to him and in the other direction of the delicious snacks. "There are some people I want to introduce you to."

The other guys had already gone ahead, a few looking back as they realized that she was no longer with them. Instead of going towards the art, she was headed away from it. Standing at a window near the front of the building talking towas a small family: a fair-skinned woman with blonde hair that fell in waves around her shoulders talking to a man with dark skin who was impossibly tall, and an adolescent girl with wild dark hair who currently looked very bored as she pouted and picked at the chipping paint on the pillar on which she leaned.

"This is my mom, dad, and sister Charlotte," Ulysse introduced, and Gen was suddenly self-conscious about how underdressed she was to meet Ulysse's family. "Family, this is Gen."

"Are you the real princess?" Charlotte asked before anyone else could get a word in, dark green eyes peering up inquisitorially.

" _Oui_."

"Where's your tiara?"

Ulysse laughed awkwardly. "Char, that's not really - "

"I left it at home," Gen supplemented, and Charlotte's eyes snapped back to her in an instant. "It gets heavy. Hurts my head. But hey, if you ever come around, I'll let you try some on. I've actually got a few."

That seemed to appease Charlotte, who nodded appraisingly before stepping back to her father's side. Monsieur Beaumont smiled apologetically, as if to say, _Kids? What can you do?_

"It's a pleasure," Madame Beaumont said, the first to extend a greeting towards Gen. She was expecting some kind of handshake, as was normal upon meeting parents, but instead, the older blonde woman pulled her into a hug.

"Thanks for having me, even though I guess I did crash," Gen replied as she pulled away.

"The more the merrier," Madame Beaumont said, smiling widely. "We always love having people over to celebrate Ulysse's success. Isn't that right dear?"

"Absolutely," Monsieur Beaumont added, just as friendly but more reserved. "I think he should count himself lucky to have such dedicated friends."

"I am lucky," Ulysse agreed. "Gen, do you want me to show you around?"

Before Gen could even get a word out, Charlotte cut in without pretense and with all the sass of a pre-teen. "Can you show me where my portrait is?"

Ulysse's face fell for just a moment at being cock-blocked before he corrected it into sunshine and roses to please his sister, whom he clearly adored. "Sure Char. It's right over there."

The pair left, Madame Beaumont prompting her husband to follow their children while she remained behind.

"Thank you for giving my boy time off tonight. I know this means a lot to him," the woman said once they were alone.

"Of course," Gen replied emphatically, as if it were a no-brainer. "I don't want to take away something so important. The Selection isn't forever, but this...this is."

They both took a moment to gauge their surroundings. The gallery had actually drawn quite a bit of attention, the room fuller than when Gen had first walked in. Ulysse had true talent, and Gen was glad that it was being shared. No one should have to give up what they love most, especially not for her.

"Every mother wants what's best for her children. When Ulysse told me he was entering the Selection, I thought he was just trying to put distance between himself and home. He was going through a rather nasty break up, and I thought he would never get out of his slump. But seeing him now, I think that his time at the palace has done him well. And seeing you here as well, being so supportive...it warms my heart," Madame Beaumont confessed, one hand placed over her chest for emphasis. "If the chips fall in Ulysse's favor, I could think of no one kinder to end up with my son."

"Thank you, Madame," Gen said, unable to think of much else to say without feeling an incredible rush of guilt.

"Oh please, none of that 'Madame' business! It's Camille."

" _Je suis désolé_ , but I'm afraid I will still have to call you Madame or I may end up confusing you with my mother," Gen teased wryly, and Madame Beaumont laughed along.

"Don't tell me you two are best friends now," Ulysse approached, apprehensive of what he was walking into. "I don't think I could handle that."

"No, Gen and I were just having a lovely chat," Madame Beaumont assured her son, though the mischievous glint in her green eyes did nothing to assuage him. "What did you do with your sister?"

Gen had wondered why it was so quiet. Charlotte was conveniently missing.

"She and Papa are over admiring her portrait. I think she's taking selfies to show to her friends."

"Of course she is," Madame Beaumont scoffed lightly so that it was an endearing sound. "Well, I best make sure she doesn't do too much damage. I won't take up any more of your time. You two have fun!"

They both watched the woman walk out of their line of sight, blonde head disappearing in the crowd, before Ulysse found it safe to speak. He didn't seem annoyed, just curious...and there was something else, something fond.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing," Gen shrugged, purposely being vague for the sake of making fun of him. "She was just telling me embarrassing stories from your childhood and all your deepest, darkest secrets."

"See, you joke, but she would do it," Ulysse replied, humor coloring his tone once he realized Gen wasn't serious.

"It's the right of all mothers to embarrass their children."

"I'll remember that the next time we're at dinner and I ask your mother about your childhood stories."

"Don't you dare!" Gen shouted, feeling embarrassment flood to her cheeks with all the stories her mother could share. None of the Selected would look at her the same way again.

"Alright, a truce then," Ulysse decided, and they both shook hands in agreement. "Up for meeting more people?"

"Why, aren't you popular," Gen teased. She really didn't want to meet more people, but his family was nice, and this was important to him.

"They're some really good friends. I think you'll like them."

Ulysse took Gen by the hand and led her over to where a very tall, lanky guy stood up against a wall with a beer in his hand, pointing to a portrait of no one in particular. Next to him, chatting his ear off, was a girl of average height with dark curly hair. She wore a flowing floral dress in a pale shade of blue that complimented her dark skin tone wonderfully. They seemed like an odd pair, especially because the girl was trying way too hard to get the guy to notice her, and he was just so oblivious that it hurt.

"Gen, this is my roommate, Carter, and our friend Bernadette."

"Nice to meet you!" Bernadette chirped, exuding bubbly energy, fixing Gen with gorgeous brown eyes. "Wow! It's always been a dream of mine to meet the princess, and Ulysse here gets to live with you every day. Is there any way we could switch places?"

It took a moment for the request to register as a joke, but because she had yet to laugh, it had fallen flat. She didn't mean to be a buzzkill. It was just...Bernadette was pretty. Really pretty. And Gen had to bite her tongue to keep from saying yes.

"Uhhhh I don't think so, sorry," Gen apologized awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck which she was sure was flushed.

"Hey, no big deal," Bernadette said with a smile. "I can always pry all the little details out of him later."

"And she will, have no fear," Ulysse chimed in.

 _Bless him_ , Gen thought, silently thanking him for jumping in to save her.

The conversation carried on without her after that. Turned out that Carter was not only Ulysse's best friend, but a jazz pianist, and Gen found herself wishing Lucas Aubry had tagged along so he could finally socialize with someone similar to him. Ulysse had asked Carter to play some background music, but he had mostly been talking to people and drinking instead, so Ulysse ripped him about not paying him to screw around to which Carter only told him to fuck off before trailing over towards the piano with Bernadette close behind.

Gen didn't follow them. Instead, she went off on her own, sure they would not miss her much. The music followed her through the twists and turns of the gallery, making her want to dance. Carter was a _really_ good jazz pianist. Ulysse better watch his back, or his gallery would soon turn into a concert.

There were less people as she kept moving through the rooms, thinning in numbers until she was alone.

She passed Charlotte's portrait: a beautiful likeness with a slightly surreal, fantasy touch, as if Ulysse had envisioned his sister as a fairytale princess. It almost looked like she was glowing.

At the end of the last hall, Gen turned the corner, and the sight took her breath away.

While other rooms featured multiple pieces, only one piece graced this vacant space: a large canvas that took up a fair portion of the far white wall. It was so big, it could probably fit ten Gens. So big, that the pastural valleys and sloping hills were nearly lifelike. The painting was so expansive, Gen hadn't hardly an idea of where to start first; there was so much to take in. Vibrant greens exploded across the canvas, soft blues and light browns providing subdued tones as they danced and blended together. The technical skill was so carefully crafted that Gen had to remind herself that she was not looking out a window.

Gen had never understood why art made people feel things; she'd looked at Water Lilies by Monet and The Mona Lisa more times than she could count and they still looked like globs of paint on a wall. But this? This made Gen feel something. Made her feel so much she had to sit.

From her perch on the bench, she had the urge to reach out and touch the acrylic blades of grass. The texture looked so real, so authentic that she swore if she closed her eyes she could smell the sweet smell of the countryside and feel the cool breeze through the glen. Memories from her childhood came to her: summers spent in chalets near the Swiss Alps, in the valleys of Provence and Loire. Happier times back when things were simpler. Back when she wasn't so worn down by the rest of the world.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Gen's eyes fluttered open, and she turned to see that she had an audience to her reminiscing: Ulysse.

She really didn't know what to say, mostly because she had no way to describe what she was feeling. It was like nostalgia mixed with the most incredible happiness and at the same time, overwhelming sadness. Perhaps she was being dramatic, or perhaps that was the point. But this was just a painting of a valley, one that may very well be a figment of the artist's imagination, and Gen did not want to come off as some pretentious art person reading meaning into things that weren't there just because she was having a moment.

"You've got a way with color."

Ulysse hummed, and sat down next to Gen on the bench, looking at his artwork critically.

"It's because I try to see the world with other people's eyes."

 _Did you see this through mine?_ she wanted to ask, but held her tongue.

"I want to buy it," Gen said instead, much to Ulysse's and her own surprise. "How much is it?"

"For you, it's free."

"I can't," Gen insisted, unable to accept such a large gift. "This is your profession, how you make a living. I want to buy it, in full."

"This piece in particular is 1200 francs," Ulysse admitted reluctantly, as if he thought she may change her mind. However, she still got the vague impression that he was still holding back the truth. This piece was massive, a labor of love. It must've taken months to complete. It must've been priceless. Still, he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Gen replied emphatically, nodding her head. "I'll have Elyan write the check when we get back."

She sat back, admiring her new masterpiece. It would look lovely in sitting area of her room, and she could finally get rid of the outdated classical pieces that she had never really been fond of. The royal curators may not approve, but Maman could rearrange the portrait hall to accommodate the change.

Ulysse got up and flipped the plaque over, marking it as sold.

"Is there anyone in particular I should make this out to?"

" _L'esprit d'enfance._ "

Ulysse smiled, scribbling the title in rushed cursive before rejoining Gen on the bench. She leaned her head down so it rest on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while - her staring at the painting, and him staring at her.


	19. Take One For the Team

A/N: Sorry it has been so long. I was not anticipating October to be such a (pardon my French) shit month for my mental and physical health, and November flew by so fast I don't even know what happened. But I've finished finals, so hopefully we can continue on with the story. I'm honestly not sure how much more I am going to be able to get through this year; December is going to be a crazy month for me as well - with the holidays and going out of the country - so I may just give you this chapter and resume (hopefully) regular updates in the new year.

This chapter was...a struggle. There was a lot of rewriting involved and I owe many thanks to Wifey, who I hope is happy with how her boy Dante is treated on this date, for bringing back my inspiration. Also, I profusely apologize if I have butchered the sport of soccer; I tried to do research but since I don't watch soccer myself, I can only hope I got things right. That being said, I hope you all enjoy :) Thank you for being so wonderful!

* * *

Take One for the Team

Like anyone else, Gen had regrets. She had her fair share more than the regular person, but she had regrets all the same.

Now, as she mistakenly entered her brother's room under the premise of being a good sister, she could add one more to the list.

Beau stood in the far corner of the room upon a slightly raised platform facing a three-paneled mirror. He turned from side to side, as if admiring his reflection. That would not be impossible, as Gen had walked in on him doing similar things before photo shoots, but Beau was not dressed for the catwalk. No, he was clad in a bathrobe over his pajama pants, his blond hair a mess of curls atop his head. He ran his fingers through the chaos carefully, studying it.

"I'm thinking about dying my hair," Beau said as he saw Gen's reflection approach, picking up two different colored bottles and holding them to his face. "Do you think I would look good as a brunet? Or should I just say fuck it and go red?"

"Wh-what?" Gen spluttered, unsure of what she just walked into.

"You're right. Red will make me look too much like the twins, and I've always been more of a leader than a follower. Brunet it is."

"Why the hell do you want to dye your hair?"

Beau shrugged. "I gave Marcel the day off, and he's like, ninety-nine percent of my impulse control."

"Okay, give me the bottles," Gen insisted, having enough of this headassery. She held her hands out patiently and waited for her brother to finally hand over both of the products, which she promptly placed on the table behind her. "You can't dye your hair, because then Maman would really kill you, and then I'd have no one to complain about her to."

"True," Beau sighed, flopping dramatically across the couch. Somehow he managed to make such a lazy gesture look sophisticated. "Though, it doesn't seem like you come to me very much anymore."

"I'm here right now," Gen pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You've been avoiding me Gen," Beau tutted, tipping his head back so that it was cast over the arm of the couch. "And after all I've done for you - "

"Which is what exactly?"

" - it hurts to be so ignored by my favorite sister."

Gen snorted. This was getting rich. "Wow, favorite?"

"Well, it's not like I have much to choose from," he replied with a smirk, Gen merely rolling her eyes in response. She honestly should have seen that one coming. Beau sat up a little, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of her dark denim jeans and thick coat and scarf. "What's got you up at this hour and dressed in something that isn't sweatpants?"

"I'm going out with Dante tonight."

"Dante? You mean that beautiful muscle-bodied thirst trap?" Beau asked, the excitement unmistakable, his blue eyes growing wide as he sat up. "Pleeeeaaasssse, take me with you."

"Um, that's a hard no."

It was bad enough that Beau was a constant presence in the guys' daily life; it would be a cold day in hell before Gen allowed herself to be a third wheel on a date in her own Selection.

"Come on Gen! You already gave me the slip once by not inviting me to that art gallery," he protested as he rushed forward and clung to her coat, pulling his best puppy-dog eyes. It was a good thing that stopped working on her years ago.

"That was spur of the moment. There wasn't really time to formally make an announcement," Gen explained, trying to disentangle herself from her brother's clutches. "Besides, I'm not going to let my brother tag along on an one-on-one outing with my Selected."

"Ugh, you're so fake," Beau pouted, shoving her away and giving up. "What kind of sister are you?"

"The normal kind that sets boundaries."

Beau scowled, very displeased. "I take back what I said before. You are not my favorite sister."

"I'll let Delphi know she's won that honor. She'll be thrilled."

"That bitch can choke," Beau sneered, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the sound of the fun-sucker's name. "Vange is much more worthy."

"That she is. I bet she would let you steal her man if you wanted."

"Whatever man she picked would be as boring as a lump on a log, just like her. But at least this make believe man has the potential to be something. I don't think Delphi could find someone even if she had a Selection. They'd all run away screaming at the sight of her."

Gen chuckled, not wanting to agree out loud just in case the little troll was listening. She seemed to be everywhere, lurking behind corners, ready to snitch at a moment's notice.

"Didn't we say that about my Selection too, and yet they're still here?"

"I guess you haven't been trying hard enough."

"I guess not," Gen shrugged, thinking back on her past promises and how sideways everything had gone since she made them. She used to be so cold and uncaring; she was going to send these boys home in tears. Now...now she felt too connected to them to let them go. They were her friends, dare she even say like family. Getting rid of them just felt _wrong_.

She looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room and swore under her breath.

" _Merde_. I've gotta go. I'll see you later."

"Fine," Beau sighed, his entire body sagging as he looked forlornly at Gen. "Go have fun with your boy toy. Forget all about little old me."

"Drama queen," Gen muttered, shaking her head as she walked towards the door.

"What did you just say?" Beau questioned, evil ears missing nothing.

"I said have a nice night!"

Gen didn't get the chance to hear Beau's response. She had already turned the corner, half way down the hall to her date.

* * *

The driver dropped Gen and Dante off around the corner from a bar downtown.

It was cold, flurries of snow surrounding their heads, but unlike her other excursions, Gen was prepared for the weather. She had bundled up in a heavy fleece jacket and tartan scarf overtop of a cream colored sweater, jeans tucked into her calf-high boots. Perhaps it was a little too fashionable for a sporting event, but she didn't follow sports, nor did any of her siblings, and it wasn't like any of her father's jerseys would fit her.

Dante pushed open the thick wooden door, the ancient thing begrudgingly budging with a moan. A rush of warmth washed over her immediately, chasing away the winter chill. No one paid them much mind as they wound their way through the dimly-lit space, something Gen appreciated greatly. Anywhere she could go without wearing a hat and sunglasses was a good place.

"Do you want anything? I'm buying," Dante asked, gesturing towards the bar.

"I'll just take whatever's on tap."

Dante leaned across the bar and raised two fingers to the bartender while Gen went and procured them a two person high-top near the corner - one of the few in the place that was still available. They'd arrived just in time. It was early enough that the place wasn't crazy busy, but give it half an hour and Gen knew this place would be packed wall to wall with people. Every bar in Paris would soon be flooded with patrons ready to pay for overpriced, flat beer and stale pretzel bites. Football was a huge deal in France. It was an even bigger deal when their home team was a contender for fame and fortune, and if there was anything the French loved more than gossip, it was having bragging rights to spread more gossip.

She pulled off her heavy coat, throwing it over the back of the chair. She was just sitting down as Dante came up with two glasses: one with beer and the other plain water.

"Aren't you going to join me?" Gen asked curiously, taking the glass gingerly from Dante's hands. The glass was slightly greasy and covered in fingerprints, but that didn't faze her too badly. Dieu knew she'd encountered worse and still put the contents in her body. No, she was more concerned that she'd committed some kind of faux pas, that she'd offended Dante in some way.

Dante looked embarrassed, smiling sheepishly as he said, "I-uh don't drink. Religious reasons."

"You're Muslim then? Or Jewish?" Gen asked, though the second was much more unlikely than the first given his heritage. Or maybe Gen was stereotyping. That wasn't racist, was it?

"Muslim born and raised, though I've strayed," He answered, fingers running idly around the rim of his glass. "Some things just stick out of habit I guess."

"Then why order a drink at all?"

Dante shrugged.

"You wanted one, and we're at a sports bar. I guess it helps me fit in."

"That is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard," Gen said with a smile that promised that she was not mocking him. It was a nice gesture to buy her a drink, but she left her glass alone. Something felt weird about drinking when she was the only one participating. "And that's saying something given that I walked in on my brother testing out new personalities earlier."

Dante arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "You're going to have to explain that one."

"It's not important," Gen waved off, not sure how she would even phrase the details in a way that made sense to other people. "Just know that it involved Beau speaking to himself in a mirror and hair dye."

"Sometimes, I think I am blessed to be an only child," Dante chuckled. "Though, it must be nice to have a large family. I've always wanted to know what it was like to have brothers and sisters."

"Chaos. Nonstop chaos from morning until night," Gen replied in a deadpan, though Dante probably just thought she was joking. She wished she was. Between Beau's constant interfering, Louis' hyperactivity, and Delphi trying to stab her in the back any chance she got, Gen felt like she was living in a circus. "Trust me, you're not missing out."

"Does that mean you don't want a big family?"

"I'm not sure what I want. To be honest I haven't really given much thought to the kind of family I want. I'm more of a take-each-day-as-it-comes kind of girl," Gen replied, the honesty in her response taking her by surprise. Maybe she should take a drink...it sure as hell would help with the nervous bouncing thing her leg was doing the moment the conversation took a turn towards the personal. "But, you're welcome to take some of mine. Hell, I'll even pay you to do it."

Dante laughed, and it was one of the purest sounds Gen had ever heard. "I've always wanted a big family."

"Because you never had any siblings?"

"Kind of. All their lives, my parents planned on having this _huge_ family, like six kids crammed in a tiny house and running the family restaurant on the weekends kind of huge. But it just...never worked out," Dante sighed, his voice heavy near that end that told Gen that there was a whole life time's worth of baggage behind that story that she did not want to touch with a ten foot pole, especially not in a crowded sports bar where the privacy was minimal.

"I guess your parents just had to settle for their one, perfect son then," Gen quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

" _Perfect_ ," Dante repeated ruefully, his smile returning. "That might be stretching it."

"Come on, don't be modest," Gen said playfully, kicking her foot lightly against his shin, almost like she was playing footsie. "You're like, the epitome of a knight in shining armor - beating up the bad guys, sacrificing cozy sweaters, and defending my honor."

Dante's cheeks flushed to a pinkish hue. He ducked his head, a bit overwhelmed at the praise.

"I don't know about all that..." Dante said modestly. "I have my flaws just like everyone else."

"I don't believe you," Gen challenged, leaning back in her seat. "Name one bad thing you've done. Go on, one bad thing. I'm waiting to hear it."

Dante chewed on his lip, making a show out of digging up something. Gen could not wait to heat what he came up with. It was probably something contrived or so minute that it didn't even count. That, or he was going to make up something extravagant. Either way, it was bound to be good.

"I...used to steal mints from the dish at the front of the restaurant when I was younger," he said after many minutes of deliberation, slapping his hand on the table as he delivered it. And just as Gen had predicted, his 'bad thing' was so pure, she had to keep herself from laughing at him.

"Younger? Or is that just another way of saying you did it last week?" Gen questioned, enjoying the way Dante fidgeted under her scrutiny like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I'm pretty sure it's been...two...months?"

"Wow, what a rebel," Gen laughed this time, smiling widely at the way his cheeks flushed even darker.

"Okay, your turn," Dante said, turning the tables on her unexpectedly. "What's a bad thing that you've done?"

Where to even start? The demons in Gen's head started screaming, clawing at her throat. There were terrible things she could say, things that would make him get up and leave. Things like 'going on this date with you and leading you on' or 'agreeing to have a Selection' or 'lying to my entire country'. Things she could never, ever say. So, she decided go the safer route and picked one of her minor sins.

"I lied to my mother when I told her I missed her after spending a winter in Illéa," Gen said, feeling the need to explain so she didn't sound like a heartless monster. "I was seventeen and had never been away from home for that long, but Maman and Papa were busy dealing with Louis, who had just been born, and tensions were _super_ high. Like bite-your-head-off-for-breathing-too-loudly high. I jumped at the chance to get out and did not regret a single second of missing the first three months of screaming, crying baby bliss. So when Maman came to the tarmac, hair undone and black circles under her eyes and the worst resting bitch face I'd ever seen, and asked me if I missed her, I could honesty say that I did not."

"That is...terrible, but understandable," Dante sympathized. "I wouldn't want to incur my mother's wrath if I could avoid it."

"What is the saying? Happy maman, happy life?" Gen asked, knowing full well she was changing the words to fit her needs.

"Something like that," Dante agreed, shaking his head slowly as he looked at Gen with wonder. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"Just go and leave everything behind," Dante elaborated. "Everyone in my family is super attached. I think my chachi and chacha would have heart attacks if I told them I was leaving for three months."

Gen thought about a life like that, a life where everyone needed to be close to everyone else, and loved everyone so much that it hurt to be apart. She could not imagine it. Maybe that was sad; maybe there _was_ something wrong with the fact that she felt like she could uproot herself at a moment's notice and feel no sorrow. She felt strangely jealous of Dante, jealous for something she never had. She doubted their family breakfasts were laden in heavy silence and the rustling of papers. She doubted his family kept secrets from one another.

"Do they miss you now?"

"You have no idea," Dante sighed, chuckling under his breath. "I get letters each day asking for descriptions of every second down to the tiniest little things."

"I hope the fight didn't make its way into those letters."

"No chance," Dante assured, shaking his head. "If they found out, my chachi would have booked a train to Paris and pulled me out of the palace by the ear."

Gen cracked a smile. The mental image of a stern old woman fighting her way through Versailles to retrieve her wayward nephew was quite entertaining.

"Then why come so far away?"

"Family is the most important thing in the world, but sometimes, you have to take chances for yourself."

"Something we can agree on then," Gen said with a smile.

She was glad that she had managed to keep the conversation from derailing. However, she was tired of hashing out the family thing, and Dante's attention had started to stray to the flat screen TVs on the wall. He was trying so hard to keep his attention on her, but his focus was shifted towards the pregame where the players had already taken to the field, firing practice shots into the net.

"So, I hear that Paris has a good chance of making it to the World Cup this year."

"That's only if we beat Barcelona tonight, and they're the best in the league right now," Dante said, though his tone suggested that he too was hopeful for a Paris win.

"Well, I think Spain sucks," Gen said haughtily, turning in her chair so she could see the screen better. "The streets are dirty, the architecture is cliché, and the food has nothing on us, so obviously we are going to win."

"I'm going to have my Chachi send you some of her lamb biryani. Then we'll see who really has the best food."

"Lamb bree-what-i?"

"Biryani," he repeated much slower this time so that Gen could get it right. "It's a traditional dish with meat and rice and a ton of spice."

"Three of my favorite things - I'm sold."

The conversation ended there, because the sound of a whistle came through the speakers, and the entire place broke out into a tense buzz. Everyone abandoned their sandwiches and snacks to stare up the dozens of colorful screens. All Gen saw was a bunch of grown men in colorful jerseys running around after a black and white ball, but these guys...Gen didn't know what they saw in it. Whatever it was, it must have been a hell of a lot more entertaining than what she was getting.

Gen leaned in close to Dante as said, "Okay, I hate to spoil the mood, but I think now is the time to confess."

"Confess what?" he asked, still half-distracted with the match, unable to tear his gaze away.

"I've never actually watched football before."

"Are you serious?" Dante asked as he spun around in his seat, his eyes blowing wide open, the game temporarily forgotten over the shock of this new development. It was almost like he was seeing her for the first time.

"Unfortunately," Gen sympathized, pulling a very helpless look. Her family was not sports inclined in the least, preferring other pastimes to occupy their limited free time. "I have no idea what's going on."

She wasn't a total lost cause. She knew the premise of the game, could recognize a goal, and knew the difference between offense and defense. She could fake being enthusiastic about the same things that everyone else freaked out over. But when it came to the finer details, everything was fuzzy.

"Well, that's Christian LaBoule, our striker," Dante noted, pointing to a young man in a red and blue jersey with cropped brown hair and a rather leathery face.

"Is that an important position?"

"He's the person who's mainly in charge of scoring goals, so yeah, he's pretty important."

"Oh," Gen said, feeling dumb for not even knowing the basics. Looking around, she realized that many of the people in the bar were wearing his jersey, cheering the man on with fervor. "What about that guy."

She pointed to a man with dark skin and a shaved head, his red and blue jersey already sweat through despite how cold it must be for the spectators at the stadium.

"That's Matawala Osangu. He's our forward."

"And what does he do?"

"He makes sure that Christian doesn't get knocked down and has a clear shot to the net."

"And Christian is the...striker?"

"Yeah," Dante said with a smile of pride. "See, you're getting it."

Gen wanted to roll her eyes and tell him that no, knowing two names and two positions was not 'getting it' when there were nine more positions to learn and only five minutes until kick off. But Dante looked so damn cheesy, smiling so widely it was nearly blinding, that Gen didn't have the heart to let him down.

He looked so _alive_ when he was watching the match. It was like someone lit him up from the inside out like a Christmas tree. His dark eyes sparkled with animation as they followed the players across the field, his face showing all the ups and downs that came with the team's progress and setbacks. When they scored the first goal, Dante actually jumped up from his seat and shot his fist into the air he was so excited. While she wanted to focus on the screen and keep up with her newfound 'grasp' on the sport, it was much more entertaining, Gen found, to watch Dante instead.

Suddenly, the crowd roared in disapproval, shouting curses that even Gen would blush to let past her lips. One man threw his beer at the TV, mug shattering on the ground. The bartender had to whistle to keep things from getting too out of hand. Even Dante looked ready to jump through the screen and throttle someone, all that enthusiasm going dark with anger. Gen had no idea that matches could be so intense.

"What's going on?" Gen asked, nervous as to what kind of response she would get from a very heated Dante.

"One of our players got fouled at the half way line, so Barcelona's getting a penalty kick. If they get it, it'll tie the score."

"And if they tie?"

"We have to go into overtime."

Gen had more questions, but Dante was fully engrossed in the match. He was on the edge of his seat, watching with rapt attention along with everyone else as the Barcelona player lined up to make the kick from the penalty line.

The kick was flawless: a perfect arc into the air that slipped right between the goalie's hands.

The shouts and jeers so loud Gen thought that she would go deaf. She actually had to cover her ears and dodge someone's half-eaten sausage that they had loped at the screen in protest. This time, the bartender had to throw a particularly rowdy patron out into the cold, though the man himself looked no more happy with the result.

Overtime.

There was something ominous about overtime, something that hung over the bar like a grey cloud. It even hung over Gen who really did not care less if Paris won or lost, and yet, with this group mentality, she felt as though her happiness was hinged on the outcome of this game. Dante's happiness sure was. He looked a mess of nerves, running his hands across the tops of his thighs as he waited impatiently for the commentators to go away and for the game to start up again.

Gen scooted her chair closer to Dante and wove one of his hands through hers. At first, he was shocked still, looking down at her in surprise as if he had forgotten she was even there. Then, he squeezed on her hand like a stress ball - something in which to channel all the nervous energy.

From her minimal understanding, overtime resulted in a shoot-off, the first team to make the most goals takes all. Normally, the football leagues didn't bother with it, but because it was such a high-stakes game, it was a necessary evil.

The players were exhausted, all heaving chests and bent over their knees. Ninety minutes of play time would do that. Gen's dietician would probably have her do cardio like that, but that woman would have to hunt her down and chain her to a treadmill first. It looked pretty miserable, and now they had to play more? Gen was not cut out for that kind of life, but right now, she was praying that their home team would get its shit together and pull out a win.

Nine kicks, three for Paris and three for Barcelona, and it all came down to one moment. If Paris made this last kick, they would bring home the win. If they missed their last kick, they had to start a whole new shoot-out and risk losing. After everything they'd already been through, they needed to make this goal.

Christian LaBoule seemed to have this realization as well, sweat pouring from his brow and his gaze fixed on the net ahead of him. He looked nervous, as if the whole world was on his shoulders. In a way, it was. All of Paris was looking to him; all of Paris was relying on him to lead them to victory.

 _Is this how people look at me?_ Gen thought.

Christian's foot made contact with the black and white pattered sphere, the force of the kick sending it spiraling from the grass and into the air, dirt coming up in chunks.

Time stopped. The ball moved in slow motion, spiraling towards the corner of the goal.

There was no way it was going to make it.

The goalie dove. The ball edged closer and closer to the post. All hope seemed to be lost.

And then the ball narrowly scraped past the goal, straight through the goalie's fingers, and into the net with a satisfying swish.

Paris won, and the bar erupted like a volcano.

The energy was unreal - a hurricane of energy that washed over her. The rush was amazing, a high unlike any other. Her head was spinning and ears were ringing as everyone in the bar hugged and clung to one another. People were cheering and jumping, Gen included. Round of drinks were poured and downed within seconds. The room was bright and shining and everything was wonderful and Dante was right there staring at her with those brown eyes sparking with mirth and disbelief and pride and he was just so damn beautiful that Gen just had to know...

So, she grabbed him by the lapels of the shirt he had on under his sweater and pulled him down for a kiss.

There was no rational thought involved, no clear thinking. She was riding the high of victory and a terrible impulse that she could no longer control. It was a terrible idea, really. Even as their lips slid across one another, warm and soft and slotted like a perfect fit, she could taste the regret. Alarms were sounding in her brain, telling her that this was, quite possibly, the worst thing she could possibly do to someone as kind and as sweet as Dante, but that didn't make her stop.

She only stopped when she needed to breathe, pulling away with the gasp. With the returned oxygen came the full weight of her decision and the realization that she probably just made Dante's crush on her a million times worse. Those warm brown eyes stared down at her with wonder, like she had handed him the mood and stars, and her stomach crawled into her throat.

Fuck.

What had she done?

What could she say to fix this? What words were enough to describe this feeling, to explain a compulsion to kiss him without any sexual attraction? Because she was caught up in the moment? Because everyone else was celebrating? Because he was a reminder of the one girl she could never have? Because he was kind and generous and patient and everything Gen wanted Samara to be? Every answer sounded more messed up than the next.

Gen pulled on a smile, trying not to let her internal breakdown show on the outside. Dante smiled back, something different and _more_ in his gaze, and damn if that didn't make everything worse.

 _It would have been kinder,_ Gen thought, _if I had just stabbed him in the heart_.

* * *

Gen's lips were still numb by the time she parted ways with Dante and ascended the stairs back to her room.

 _Such an idiot,_ she cursed herself.

If she could kick her own ass, she would. She had no idea what she was thinking kissing Dante like that. It had to have been something in the water. Or maybe her tolerance was much lower than she expected and she was actually drunk. Not that that made things better, but it would make a hell of a lot more sense than a lesbian wanting to kiss a man.

She was not bisexual. No, she knew that for a fact; it was something she had struggled with when originally coming to terms with her identity. She really just believed that her mind was so fucked up that she could replace one person with another.

There was music. Soft, entrancing music coming from down the hall.

 _Who the hell was up this late?_

Dumb question. About half her suitors, her own siblings, and herself included didn't seem to know what bedtime was. Literally, it could have been anyone, but there were only a few people she knew of that played the piano. That narrowed the culprit down significantly.

 _If it's Delphine, I swear to Dieu that girl is going to catch these hands,_ Gen grumbled mentally, throwing open the door to the sitting room.

Nothing prepared her for what she found. It wasn't a scandalous sight, merely a confusing one.

Lucas Aubry was at the piano, playing a piece that would put the greats to shame, while Evangeline reclined on her back with a book, her feet swaying to the rhythm from where they were thrown over the arm of the couch. To top it all off, Vange was petting a cat situated on her stomach, fingers running idly through the grey and white fur while she flipped through the pages. They both seemed so content, that Gen felt like she was walking in on something private. Which was weird all in itself because this was her sixteen year old _sister_ with one of her _suitors._

Gen wasn't dumb. She had an inkling of what was going on beforehand, but this was a confirmation of what she had suspected.

"Gen, I promise it's not what it looks like," Evangeline was quick to say, scrambling up from her perch and intervening on behalf of Lucas who was currently gaping like a fish while trying not to hyperventilate.

Out of all the things Gen could have said, the only thought she could verbalize was, "When did you get a cat?"

"It's m-my cat," Lucas stuttered, raising his hand as if he were a schoolboy being called out by the teacher. "H-her name is Ange."

"You snuck a cat into the palace?" Gen asked, not really understanding how weeks could go by and no one notice an animal living among them.

"Please don't tell Maman!" Evangeline begged, her hands clasped together in front of her chest as if in prayer. "Ange is a sweetheart, and she would never hurt anyone. Just pet her - she's the cutest little ball of fluff, and she's really quiet too! No one even knows she's here."

The cat chose that moment to tilt its head up and fix Gen with the most precious wide-eyed stare. How could she say no to that?

Gen pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why did you even do it?"

Lucas shrugged, averting his gaze. "She helps."

"Helps with what?"

"Everything. Dealing with people, dealing with stress, the anxiety of it all..."

Even now, his fingers were idly curling through the cat's grey fur. It seemed to soothe him, distracting him from the compromising position he had been found in. No doubt a good guy like him had never broken the rules before in his life. This had to be one of the most traumatic things he'd experienced.

 _Now is definitely not the time to bring up the accusations of treason,_ Gen made a mental note. She didn't want to be a hard ass. She liked Lucas Aubry a lot; he was a sweet kid, and anyone who could win Evangeline's approval had to be way too good for Gen. But that didn't mean that she could just sweep this under the rug.

"Listen, I don't really care what's going on here, and I don't care about the cat - you can keep her, I won't say anything - but the less I know the better," Gen held up her hand, stopping them before they could say something irrevocably damning.

"So...I'm not in trouble?" Lucas asked tentatively, his voice quavering and eyes wide with hope.

"No Lucas, you're not in trouble," Gen confirmed, watching him visibly relax even if he was still breathing far too shallowly for her liking. "Can you give my sister and I the room? Why don't you go lie down, take five."

He nodded rapidly, scooping up Ange with one hand and bolting out of the room. Evangeline looked wistfully after him, as if she wished to follow. Gen knew that her sister probably felt horribly and wanted to make things right. Hell, she had to fight the urge herself to chase down the skittish kid. However, what was more important was clearing the air with her sister. Lucas could wait.

"You've gotta be careful about this kind of stuff Vange," Gen sighed, shaking her head. "Imagine if it had been one of the guards who walked in. Or Heather. Or Maman."

"I know..." Vange said as she worried her bottom lip, looking contrite. She flopped back down on the couch, careful to avoid sitting on her book. "I wasn't thinking."

"Yeah you were, just not about getting caught," Gen replied, and Vange flushed as she lowered her gaze. "You like him, don't you?"

"I don't know...maybe? He's sweet, we like a bunch of the same stuff, and he notices me when no one else does," Vange answered honestly in a quiet voice. "But I promise he hasn't tried anything, I swear it. We're more like really good friends."

"I believe you."

"We've just been talking. And reading. And sometimes he plays the piano for me."

"He's really good at that," Gen said, trying to get Vange to smile.

"Yeah, he is," she agreed, sniffling.

 _"L'amour est une catastrophe magnifique."_

 _"Comment sais-tu?"_

 _"Parce que..."_ Gen trailed off, words failing her as she had no safe reason to give her sister. Not without delving into her unrequited crush on a pretty shitty princess and how it caused her to fuck up in the biggest way while on a date with a guy she did not deserve. So, she decided to give the PG version of the story, hoping it would be good enough. " _Parce que_ I'm dating thirty five guys at once and it's a nightmare. I'm not even sure if I'll find someone at the end of it."

"You will," Evangeline said, patting Gen's knee comfortingly. "You're a pretty great sister, and an even better princess. Who wouldn't want to marry you?"

Gen got choked up, tears welling in her eyes. That might have been the nicest thing any of her siblings had ever said to her, and the fact that it came from Evangeline - the girl who literally never spoke - made it all the more precious. She pulled Evangeline into a hug, appreciating the sister that she normally ignored.

Gen may have had a lot of regrets, but this? This wasn't one of them.

* * *

 **Notes for the chapter:**

L'amour est une catastrophe magnifique = Love is a magnificent catastrophe

Comment sais-tu? = How do you know?

Parce que = because

Football = soccer


	20. Pancakes and Politics

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Here is your present! I had a burst of inspiration from talking to **Anj** \- I want to thank her for kicking my butt into gear and giving me a whole bunch of ideas to run with. I hope everyone enjoys this time with their friends and families, and enjoys this chapter as well :) Thanks for being amazing readers and sticking with me even though the rough patches. I could not be any more grateful for y'all this holiday season!

* * *

Pancakes and Politics 

Breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

Usually Gen slept through it, but that did not change the fact that it was essential, and that morning, it was extra essential. Mostly because Gen had actually hauled her ass out of bed before noon to physically have a hand in concocting it. It wasn't anything fancy, nothing too strenuous. Just pancakes. Stacks upon stacks of pancakes.

When the guys walked into the dining hall, faces full of confusion, Gen merely popped up from the steaming griddle and gave them her biggest grin.

" _Bon matin!_ "

Most of them were still staring at her, and not in a good way. It was probably because she had batter on her hands, and on her pants, and on her shirt, and in her hair. Why she had decided to do this all solo and not accept the maids' help was beyond her (No, she knew why. It was because she was determined to prove herself capable and 'how hard could flipping pancakes be? - Very hard, she could now say with confidence). Now, she looked like a dirty mad woman, and she could not blame them for being skeptical.

"What's all this?" Lucas Travert asked, always the eager one.

"I thought that, for all you guys have done for me, I could do something special for you."

Gen beamed, her smile exuding pride in her work. Really, the spread didn't turn out terribly - all of the berries and whipped cream fixings displayed around the hot skillet. The first few goes at pancake making had turned out a bit crispy around the edges, but Louis seemed to like them just fine. But then again, the five year old had doused his in syrup so, the taste of anything unpleasant was masked by sugary sweetness. There was also fruit and the usual breakfast foods set up buffet style if the pancakes were truly inedible. She just hoped that it wouldn't come to her being left with a hundred uneaten pancakes.

"But...we haven't done anything..." Seb pointed out, looking confused. However, that did not stop him nor any of the others from grabbing plates.

"Well, I guess then this is just to say that I appreciate you," Gen amended, gesturing to the plates stacked high with the golden cakes. "Now, you guys better eat all of these. I didn't slave over this iron for nothing."

"Yes ma'am," Arlo saluted as he came over to grasp the tongs from her hands, plucking three off of the top of the largest stack.

"Sorry, no cookies" she teased.

"I think I'll live," he replied dryly, giving her his best unimpressed smirk.

The guys all smiled and thanked Gen as they passed through the line. In true male fashion, they piled plates high with everything they could see (with the exception of Merlin who was still sticking with his model diet despite all the peer pressure around him, and Lochan, who sneered at the entire concept and opted only to take what was pre-made by servants). Gen was starting to wonder if she would need to make more pancakes, but blessedly there were about ten left over after everyone had their fix. Plenty for her and whoever else decided to come along afterwards.

However, while Gen was happy with breakfast, not everyone was.

Much to Evangline's dismay, Lucas Aubry chose the seat furthest from her end of the table, keeping his head focused downward at his plate. Evangeline looked positively heartbroken, picking at her pancakes with her form, sneaking glances to where her friend was pointedly ignoring her. Gen felt terrible. She had not meant to ruin their friendship. Relationship? Whatever they had going on. She had only wanted them to be careful.

Thankfully, Arlo seemed to catch on to what was happening, and scooted his seat next to Evangeline.

"Whatcha reading?" he asked casually, nodding his head at her book.

Evangeline looked startled, not expecting the attention. Neither was Lucas, whom Gen noticed had shot his gaze up to the two as soon as the red head started talking. Evangeline swiveled her gaze back down to the book cover and sighed.

"Le Petit Prince."

"I've read that one - about the boy on the moon, right?"

"Another planet," she amended, though not unkindly. "It's quite fantastical, one of my favorite stories."

Arlo nodded thoughtfully as he chewed. "Do you ever read poetry?"

"Sometimes," Evangeline said as she nodded, now invested in their conversation.

"I have the works of Charles Baudelaire with me. They're some of my favorites. I think you'd like them. I could lend them to you, if you'd like."

"I would, _merci_."

Evangeline's mood genuinely brightened, while Lucas looked...hurt? Confused? It was hard to tell from someone who radiated nerves. However, Gen was not concerned with how he felt; it was his decision to put his distance between them, and that was for them to work out. All Gen cared about was her sister's happiness. So, Gen snuck Arlo a grateful smile, and he smiled in return.

Neelam came wandering in late, her mother nowhere in sight which was never a good sign. The girl was dressed in her usual hodge podge of cultures; the new accessories were the camera hanging from her neck and the earbuds in her ears, hardcore rap blasting through them so that nearly everyone who passed her could hear as well. Not that she cared. She butted into the line, cutting off Delphine to get the last slice of bacon, which she smugly flaunted before going down the line to scoop some eggs. Gen had to cover a snicker at Delphine's furious expression, her sister's cheeks turning nearly as red as her hair as she stormed past Neelam to then pout in her chair.

Gen leaned over the griddle, depositing two fresh pancakes on Neelam's plate.

"Where's Heather?"

"Not sure," Neelam shrugged, her bangles jangling as she reached up to pull out her earbuds. "She was screaming on the phone at someone, so I just backed out of her office real slow and walked away."

"Good call."

"Yeah. There was a lot of cursing involved. A lot of 'you're lucky I'm not there because if I was I would stab you in the neck' type of stuff."

Gen's eyes widened, shocked at the behavior. "Damn, that's psycho."

"That's my mom," Neelam sighed, the threat not fazing her in the least. "Can I have some of that syrup?"

"Sure."

Gen handed over the bottle, Neelam smiling her thanks before dumping half of it out on her pancakes. Gen shuddered at the teeth-rotting stickiness. Neelam and Louis could both sit side by side at the dentist while they got those cavities fixed.

With Neelam taken care of (and also taking pictures of her food and the ceiling for some weird reason), Gen was finally able to sit down and taste the fruits of her labor. The first bite did not come along with singing angels or a heavenly light, but it didn't come with a burnt taste or crunch either, so Gen called it a breakeven. The guys seemed to like them though, but they were a poor judge of taste. She was pretty sure she could feed them anything and they'd shovel it in their mouths.

Then, Maman came bustling through the doors, embarrassed at being so late. She kissed Papa on the forehead before taking her seat, his eyes never straying from the current events section of the paper. She did not even bother to fix herself a plate, instead going straight to work on the stack of documents she had brought with her. The servants would do it for her soon enough, one maid coming over to pour a steaming cup of coffee which she drank immediately, not even flinching as the scalding liquid hit her tongue. It was simultaneously awe inspiring and terrifying.

"You're in a good mood this morning," Maman commented, looking curiously at the breakfast spread she she finally registered what was going on.

"It's been a good morning," Gen replied honestly, finding herself utterly content. "I made breakfast for the Selected, as you can see."

"Glad to see you are still devoted to the process."

Gen put on a thin lipped smile, reaching down to take a drink off of her own coffee to prevent saying something. Beau smirked and shook his head discreetly as he cut into his stack of pancakes. Gen shot him a glare, but he didn't see it. He was far too busy admiring the Selected to care what was going on in the family end of the table.

"The Governor of Martinique is coming to visit this weekend along with his family," Maman announced to Gen, who didn't much care at all. They had guests all the time; it wasn't a big deal.

"Sounds important."

"That's because it is. The governor is not an easy man to please, and it has always been a struggle in the past keeping him happy. Now, with numerous civilians living in Versailles - "

" - you're afraid of how he's going to react," Gen finished. It would be a shock to come and visit and suddenly be bombarded with dozens of random men.

"More like I'm afraid of how _they_ will react."

Her gaze scanned over the table, looking skeptically among the masses. Gen felt affronted at her insinuation.

"They're good guys, Maman. They're not going to ruin the night."

Well, most of them were good. Gen's gaze naturally found Lochan, the snake, and had to repress a shiver. As repulsive as he was, at least he wasn't at risk for causing a national scandal.

"I was thinking of expanding the guest list, make the event more of one to celebrate," Maman continued, this bit of information actually interesting.

"Oh?"

"Your father and I are in agreement that the Selected should be allowed to invite guests of their own for the welcome dinner and accompanying ball. Not an outlandish number, but a reliable, demure few," Maman explained, placing a hand over Papa's to signify their unilateral idea, to which Papa simply nodded his head, not very interested in the conversation at all.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Gen agreed, thinking of how much that would mean to her Selected. "I'm serious. A lot of them have been really homesick. I think that getting the chance to mingle with old faces would do them some good."

"Alright, then we will make it official and send out invitations for them to disperse in a few days," Maman concluded, the decision made. "Until then, keep this under wraps. I don't want word getting out to your grandmère."

"You think she'll disapprove?" Gen asked.

It made sense. Grandmère never approved of the Selection, and so she most likely would definitely not approve of more commoners flooding Versailles, if even for a night. She was getting old and touchy. One wrong move could set her off, and no one wanted the queen to fly off the handle during an important political event.

"Who knows what she thinks anymore," Papa commented, to which Maman merely rolled her eyes, not wanting to verbalize her evident agreement.

With that, the rest of breakfast went by in an amicable buzz. Louis was hyperactive and played with his food. Evangeline read her book. Delphine scowled and shot daggers at Neelam who only ignored her and continued to blast rap music much to the annoyance of the surrounding company. Heather never showed up. And the Selected talked at varying volumed amongst themselves.

 _How did I ever do breakfast before this?_ Gen asked herself, taking it all in. _How was life ever full without this?_

Maids bustled around and butlers were quick to take apart the griddle and sweep up Gen's mess. And what a mess she had made! There was batter splattered everywhere. Maybe she had actually made more work than if the staff had just done everything themselves. But, it was the thought that counted and Gen was glad to have put her own personal touch on the day. Even if it meant that was going to get the burnt parts of dinner for the next week as a subtle payback from the kitchen staff. It was worth it.

Once everyone started clearing out, Gen made her move to go. She had things she needed to do, duties she had been shirking that needed attending to, but was stopped half way across the room.

"Gen, can I speak with you real quick?" Dante asked, looking around the space and realizing that a few of the stragglers had started to stare. "In private?"

"S-sure..." Gen agreed, suddenly very nervous.

Dante nodded concisely before turning on his heel and walking out of the dining hall. Gen could only assume but to follow him. She was well aware of the stares she was getting, wondering eyes considering what this tête-a-tête was about. Their guesses were as good as hers. This conversation could take a million twists or turns. She could only pray it was something her heart could handle.

When they were far enough away from the dining hall, in the middle of some obscure hallway, Dante stopped and turned to face Gen. He had a grave expression on his face, one that suggested that he had been doing a lot of thinking. That, and his hair was disheveled - pulled up into a knot at the back of his neck while his eyes sported dark circles. Poor man must not have gotten a lot of sleep, and Gen felt guilty for whatever it was he was about to say.

"I wanted to talk last night...about the uh...the kiss."

 _Dieu help me_ , Gen prayed, sucking in a deep breath.

"Ummm...Dante, before you say anything, I just - "

"No, please, let me just get this out," Dante cut her off, looking positively flustered. He started back and forth in front of her, looking for the right words. "You're great, wonderful really. So much more wonderful than I ever expected. And, it's not that I didn't want to kiss you, because I do. A lot. An embarrassing amount actually. But I felt like I was overstepping, and I didn't want to make things awkward between us or ruin anything or - "

"Dante, it's okay, really - "

"- I mean, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or like I'm trying to rush things."

"I don't feel that way at all," Gen assured, even if she was still a little weirded out about the whole thing. It was her fault, plain and simple, and she did not want Dante feeling responsible or remorseful in any way. "In fact, if it makes you feel better, we can take things even slower. As slow as you want. The slower the better really."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Positive," Gen nodded, ready for this conversation to be over so she could go die of embarrassment elsewhere. "A hundred percent, have never been surer in my life."

"Okay, that's good," he said, visibly deflating as the tension left his body. "Because I was so worried about this all night. Like _all night_. And it was a really great kiss, don't get me wrong..."

He started rambling on and on, the words giving Gen serious second hand embarrassment. And, as if the conversation could not get any more cringe worthy, the unexpected came sauntering down the hallway.

"Dante, stop talking," Gen said shortly, eyes glued to the figure striding her way.

"What?"

He looked confused, giving her a slightly hurt frown.

"Stop. Talking."

Gen was talking through closed teeth now, plastering on a wide fake smile to the persona fast approaching. Finally, Dante caught on, turning to see none other than the Queen of France flanked by two guards.

Grandmère was dressed in her usual formal attire: a conservative silvery white dress paired with a jacket and a large decorative hat atop her greying hair. She always said the things made her look dignified and were much more comfortable than a crown. Gen always thought they made her look like a British peacock, but she never voiced that opinion. She liked to stay on the queen's good side after all.

"Grandmère, what a _pleasant_ surprise," Gen greeted with a curtsey, plotting the quickest way to get the batty old woman out of their hair.

This was a terrible situation. Grandmère had made her feelings on the Selection very clear, and now she had walked in on a private conversation. A private conversation about Gen's love life, one thing above all others that she did not want the old woman's nose in.

A nose that was currently held up in the air like she was sniffing something spoiled as she pointed a bony finger at Dante.

" _Qui êtes-vous?_ "

"Dante Sial, _Votre Majesté_ ," he introduced himself, sweeping into a hasty bow.

"He's one of my suitors for the Selection, remember?" Gen prompted, hoping that would spark some kind of recollection.

"Selection?" Grandmère asked, taken aback before casting a fretful gaze around the hall and fluffing at her silvery hair. "Is Maxon here?"

"No, Grandmère, don't be silly. _My_ Selection," Gen amended, trying her best to laugh it off as if this was some kind of joke instead of _La Reine de la France_ exposing herself as very off her rocker.

"Ah, I see," the old woman said, pursing her thin lips together in a stern line. She seemed mightily disappointed that Maxon was not coming. Gen supposed now was not the time to bring up the fact that he was dead.

Everyone was too nervous to make any conversation, so they stood in silence while Grandmère sized Dante up. Those cold eyes raked over him from head to toe, assessing every single square inch of his body. Gen could see him fidgeting subtly with his sleeve and collar, growing uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Gen felt bad for him, and wished he had dressed more formally than just a sweater and jeans. Grandmère did love a man in a suit.

Finally, she let out a sigh, and her expression relaxed. "You know, it is a lovely day today, not too brisk outside, and was just about to head out for a walk in the gardens. Would you care to join me?"

Not what Gen expected at all, but it was better than a sentencing to the royal dungeon (which they totally had, Gen was convinced).

"It would be my pleasure, _Votre Majésté,_ " Dante replied with haste, eager to please.

Gen rolled her eyes once the queen turned her back. Lovely day her ass! It was freezing outside - nearly cold enough to snow. It would be a miserable walk, but what the old woman wanted, the old woman got.

"Just let me get my coat..."

"Oh, not you dear," Grandmère waved Gen away, looping her arm through Dante's. "You're much too busy to be bothered. I'm sure this young man will be plenty company."

" _Grandmère_ ," Gen said pointedly, feeling the situation veer from the 'bad' to the 'very bad' category. "It's no trouble, I - "

"Now, now, I have made my decision."

Grandmère pulled her stern face on, the kind of face she made when she had closed all further discussion on a topic and was going to have her way. There was absolutely no changing her mind, an Gen grit her teeth. She was so annoyed she could scream. All she wanted to do was rip Dante out of her grandmère's clutches and hide him far away from her.

" _Ouais_ Gen, she has made her decision," Dante backed the old woman up, displaying a teasing smile that only made Gen more exasperated. And here she thought that he was on her side!

Dieu only knew what she had in store for him. Dieu only knew the kinds of thing she would say.

So, she watched them walk down the hall, hopeful that this would not be the last she ever saw of Dante Sial.

* * *

That night, Gen could not sleep.

It had been an easy day, no reason to be stressed or even the slightest bit perturbed. Still, she tossed and turned in her sheets, the room changing from too hot to too cold in an instant. Her mind was running in circles, keeping her up and alert even though all she wanted was to fall into a deep sleep and not wake up until tomorrow evening.

What had Grandmère done with Dante? What about the kiss? What was she going to do about Vange and Lucas? How could she do anything without looking suspicious?

It was too much, and all that brain power was causing her stomach to start growling.

Rolling out of bed, Gen pulled on a sweatshirt and shuffled down to the kitchen. The cooks usually kept out a few snacks for Gen to graze on; they knew her habits by now, and there was bound to be a pint of ice cream or a bag of chips somewhere.

However, after a few minutes scanning shelves in the pantry, Gen realized she was not alone.

At first, she thought it might be Arlo in search of his cookies, but the cookie jar remained untouched upon the island. Turning the corner, she saw a carton of eggs out on the counter, as well as a bunch of spice shakers and a few pans. The culprit, standing at the stove in his well-worn grey pajamas, was Anatole. His hair was messy, pulled away from his face with an elastic hair tie to keep it out of whatever was sizzling on the skillet. He heard Gen approach and turned his head, nodding in a silent greeting before returning to cooking.

The sad thing was, that this wasn't even a surprise.

"I swear, none of you sleep. You're incapable of it," Gen grumbled to herself, side-stepping him to get to the fridge.

"I don't see you in bed either," he fired back, only to realize his choice of words and quickly backpedal to save face. "Not that I've imagined you in bed…or anything…"

Gen chose to ignore his crash and burn for the both of their sakes. Besides, she was far too overcome with the disappointment that the kitchen was fresh out of ice cream.

"Rules don't apply to me," Gen said, taking a seat on one of the barstools nearest the counter space he was occupying. From this close, the mixed aromas reached her nose, and her stomach rumbled even louder than before.

"Of course they don't," Anatole replied, clearly unimpressed. But there was an easy tone to his voice that let her know that he wasn't being mean. He was only teasing her. "They don't apply to me either. Not by choice, but by necessity."

Gen quirked an eyebrow. "What does that even mean?"

"No one really decides when they're going to fall out of bed with a heart attack now do they?"

Oh. The medical thing. She had almost forgotten.

"I guess not."

"Besides, it's easier to stay up until six a.m. than to wake up at six a.m. Residents, especially first years, have to do all the grunt work so I'm always on call," he explained, his attention focused on slathering something strange-smelling on the concoction in the skillet. "It's weird, not having my pager on me. I keep checking my waistband, looking for it, waiting for it to go off. Seems empty without it."

"I'm sorry," Gen apologized, though she wasn't sure what for.

"Not your fault," he shrugged, placing the finished product on a plate and walking over to where she sat. In a turn of events, he pushed the plate towards her, revealing a perfectly golden omelette. Gen had no choice but to accept the gift, plucking the fork from his extended fingers. "I'm the workaholic who applied for the Selection. Should have known what would happen."

He didn't seem particularly pleased about this turn of events, but he didn't seem angry about them either. It almost looked like he had accepted some kind of defeat.

"You're not going to lose your placement, are you?"

"No, nothing like that," he assured, though the melancholy still lingered. "I'll be set back, probably have to repeat my first year due to lost time, but it's nothing I can't make up."

Gen felt guilty. She hadn't meant to hold Anatole back. He could be out in the world, saving lives if it wasn't for her dog and pony show.

"You know, the palace gives donations to the children's hospital in Paris throughout the year. Valentine's Day is coming up soon and that means another delivery will have to be made. Wanna tag along?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," Gen nodded her head, ready and willing to make this thing work. "I'm not saying you'll be allowed to scrub in on surgeries or anything, but you could visit the patients, do some clinical work. Maybe I can get a group together, make a trip out of it. I know Seb would probably love to go. How does that sound?"

"Amazing," Anatole replied quickly, his eyes wide in awe. "Gen, thank you. I've been going crazy cooped up in here."

"I know the feeling," she sympathized, taking in another forkful of savory eggs. They were some of the best she had ever tasted, and she had to fight back a moan. "What's really amazing is this omelette. Seriously, what is in it?"

"Some cheese, ham, pepper, cilantro," he ticked off the ingredients on his fingers. "Oh, and some tabasco sauce."

"Tabasco sauce?"

"Yeah. Apparently it's really popular in southern Illéa. A little spicy, but I like it."

"How did you get Illéan spices?"

"This magical thing called the Internet," he teased, enjoying the way her face turned into a sour frown. "Seriously Gen, start expanding your horizons."

"Fuck off," she laughed.

"I do what I like, when I like," he replied, and Gen could recognize a challenge when she heard one.

"As much as I admire a strong sense of will, I am the future Queen of France, and you are required to obey," she reminded him, enjoying the way his eyes temporarily flared.

"Keep pulling that card, see where it gets you."

Her lips curved up into a smirk. "Ooh, I'm shaking."

In her mind, Gen made a list. _So, he doesn't like to be ordered around. Likes being in charge. Good to know._

And it was then that Gen realized that they were a little too close for her liking, and that their banter was toeing on crossing the line into flirting territory. No, it had far surpassed flirting territory. She had already made one mistake in the past twenty four hours. Another mistake was not on her agenda.

Gen took two steps back, and walked over to the sink, depositing her empty plate with a dull thunk.

"Thanks for the food," she said, gesturing to the door. "I'm gonna go back to bed. Try to get some sleep yourself."

"No promises," Anatole replied, waving in Gen's direction as she left.

On the way back to her room, she took the long way round. When she passed the portrait of Marie Antoinette, Gen stopped.

"Don't look at me like that," she sneered at the painted lady, who only kept smiling that cryptic smile. "I'm nothing like you."


	21. Dinner, Dancing, and Disaster

A/N: Thanks to **MayFlyMortalityFly** for submitting William Merce and family. Though he was not picked for the Selection, I hope this chapter does him some justice :) And thanks to everyone else for creating the bonus characters we see in this chapter! I love it when a ton of people get together and make magic. Face claims for all the new characters and their attire can be found on my Pinterest page. My sincerest apologies if your boy isn't heavily featured; I wanted to include everyone, but the more I added, the more the chapter started to stagnate and I needed it to move along. Mostly, I tried to feature the characters we hadn't seen in a while. I hope y'all enjoy!

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Dinner, Dancing, and Disaster

On the night of the Governor's Ball, Gen and family lined up on the stairs of the steps of Versailles, ready to greet their guests.

It was cold as balls outside, but Elyan had allowed Gen to take two shots of whiskey before facing this dog and pony show, so the warmth of the liquor provided some insulation. Still, her nipples felt hard as diamonds, and Gen was sure they could cut glass. She regretted her choice in attire, the one-sleeved black chiffon evening gown with golden floral accents doing nothing to protect her from the icy gusts of wind that blew through the slit down the side. Goosebumps erupted down her exposed thigh, day-old stubble prickling as she knocked her knees together and tried not to slip and fall.

She wondered if anyone else was having this much trouble.

Since this was not a large affair, Delphine and Evangeline were allowed to attend even though they had yet to be introduced to society (a stupid rule that Gen hated when she was young, but now gave her great satisfaction to hold over Delphine's head). The twins wore matching tea-length sweetheart gowns: Evangeline's in sky blue and Delphine's in a shade of charcoal grey. Though matching, they could not have looked more different if they tried, Delphine pushing the limits of her young age with dark lipstick and black pumps while Evangeline went for a sweeter, more natural look with pink cheeks and blue round-toed heels.

Beau was the one who really stole the show. Never had Gen seen a more ostentatious suit - made of pink tweed with a matching vest layered over a green and yellow plaid tie and a pale pink button-down. On anyone else, it would have looked like a mess. On Beau, it was just another fashion statement. Gen would have been more upset that Beau was outshining her once again, but she had learned from a young age that Beau needed the spotlight, and she was just fine without it. Besides, it was acceptable for her to show off leg in the high slit from her gown, and that on its own would make her attire memorable. After all, it had certainly attracted some stares from the Selected who too were waiting, albeit further up the staircase and closer to the warmth of the heated palace.

Not that she wanted those looks. She didn't want them at all. But it looked good when photographers could capture a few longing, heteronormative looks to stave off suspicions that this whole thing was a sham, even if it was the truth.

Gen's fingers itched to get on a glass of champagne, anything to speed up the slow arrival of the governor. Wandering eyes caught Maman fixing her tiara, the powder blue chiffon crinkling as she fluffed her golden curls. Papa's eyes remained fixed on the stairwell, but Gen could tell that he was hesitating to look at the watch on his wrist.

Finally, after what felt like years, a black limousine pulled into the drive and a tall, well-dressed man with stepped out. He walked with a swagger that exuded self-importance, midnight eyes twinkling in a way that made Gen's stomach knot...and not in a good way. His smile was blindingly white against the darkness of his skin, like a shark bearing all of its razor-sharp edges.

Maman was the one who took the initiative to greet him, his hulking figure dwarfing her petite frame as she stepped forward and offered her hand.

"Governor Merce, it's wonderful to have you. I hope your flight was comfortable."

"Quite comfortable, _merci Votre Altesse_ ," the man said with a bow, his voice a low gravelly rumble. Then, he turned to the two standing right behind him: a young man in a sharp brown and blue suit, and a young lady in a bright yellow gown. "May I introduce my son, William, and my daughter, Clementine."

Both paid their respects, William with a bow of his own, and Clementine with a curtsey. While graceful, Gen could not shake how different Clementine was from her father and brother. While William looked sharp and shone with confidence just like their father, Clementine seemed timid and scattered. She avoided eye contact, hiding behind her wavy acid-washed hair like it was a shield. At first, Gen thought it was some version of stage fright, but the longer Gen watched, the more she realized that Clementine was just...strange. Spacey. Like she wanted to melt into the background and disappear.

Together, everyone walked up the stairs and into the palace, winding their way to the ballroom. There were an ample amount of guests - mostly politicians and local officials to keep to the theme. Senator Lambert was absent, meaning that there was no one Gen recognized nor cared to converse with. Blessedly, no one came up to her, and she was free to mill around and study the faces in the room.

Heather wore a strapless gold ballgown and matching heels, the color complementing her skin tone well. It came as no surprise that she could not get away from work, talking animatedly with Governor Merce while Neelam stood next to her, wearing a matching teal and gold top and skirt, the hem of the top exposing the tiniest amount of skin on her flat abdomen. Her usual array of jewelry jangled on her wrist and sparkled against the top of her head. Every so often, she would steal a glance Gen's way and make the most ridiculous face, making Gen laugh. _Dieu_ , that girl was weird. But, Neelam's behavior had long since stopped being a nuisance, fading into something welcome. Endearing, maybe?

A tap on her shoulder pulled Gen back into the present, turning to see William Merce with his hand outstretched.

" _Votre Altesse_ , would you honor me with the first dance?"

As much as she did not want to dance this very moment, it would be exceedingly rude to decline one of the guests of honor.

"Of course."

Pleased, William took her by the hand and lead her out to the dance floor. The orchestra in the corner struck up a waltz, and William immediately took the lead. He was a good dancer, graceful in all the ways an accomplished, wealthy young man should be, but Gen did not like the way he pulled them so close, the way he gazed down at her as if she were something to devour. It made the skin on the back of her neck prickle.

"Are you enjoying your stay in Paris?" she asked, hoping that conversation would fill the space of increased tension.

" _Oui_ , I find the city to be quite alluring. Perhaps you could give me a tour?"

"Sure," Gen agreed, not thinking much of it. She was surprised Maman hadn't forced something like that on her already.

"I don't appreciate where you've put your hands, Monsieur Merce," Gen said through smiling lips. Oh, if only it was acceptable to sucker punch diplomats. Unfortunately, she'd have to settle this the civil way.

" _Mes mains?_ " William asked, feigning innocence as he trailed them lower, lower, and lower down past the base of her spine, right to the curve of her ass.

Gen couldn't take anymore. She physically took a step back and pushed him away. Without missing a beat William caught on to her wrist and spun Gen in a circle, keeping time to the music. He pulled her back in so her shoulder pressed against his chest. They were much closer than she ever wanted to be.

"What game are you playing at?"

William only smiled in the faux-innocent manner. " _Pas des jeux, Votre Altesse_."

Then, the unthinkable happened. William dipped Gen down into a bend and actually leaned in for a kiss. Was anyone else seeing this! Left with no other option, Gen did what any other mature girl would do in this kind of situation: she head butted him.

" _Ah mon Dieu!_ " William cried, letting Gen go as he careened backward to grasp at his now-bleeding nose.

" _Désolé_ ," Gen said with false sweetness strictly for appearance's sake. "I must have slipped."

William shot her a glare, but Gen did not feel badly in the slightest. She only wished for the orchestra to speed up, to speed time up so she could have a real reason to leave this douchebag on the dance floor, because the last thing she wanted was to have his meaty mitts on her again.

But then there was a different set of hands on her shoulder and a different voice that came up behind her and asked, "Mind if I cut in?"

William looked affronted, but Gen could not have asked for a better angel than a boy in a navy blue suit.

"No, Hugo, I don't mind at all."

If Gen got satisfaction out of knowing William was staring angrily after them, then she wasn't ashamed. She didn't dare give him any more of her attention though, making it a point to look nowhere but Hugo. She studied the lines of his face, the ash brown fringe of his hair, the way his irises melted into his dark brown eyes, and watched him as he looked anywhere but at her. Her gaze wandered further, admiring the way the yellow of his tie complimented the rest of his suit. _Beau would approve_ , she hummed to herself.

"Thanks for that," Gen said once she was sure she had caught enough of her breath. Until then, she had not noticed how hard her heart had been beating, or how fast her pulse had been racing. Now, she just felt exhausted.

"For what?"

"You know what," Gen sighed, laughing under her breath. It would have been funnier if she wasn't still so freaked out. "Swooping in like a knight in shining armor."

"I can't say my reasons aren't selfish. I mean, I did end up dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room," Hugo said with a smile, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the words that just flew out of his mouth. He averted his gaze, now somewhat flustered. "Some guys are just creeps. I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

"You're not a creep."

"I hope not."

Gen nodded and leaned in to the dance, not really counting her steps nor listening to the tempo. Everything was blurred and hazy as she let Hugo pull her into a spin. He wasn't as coordinated of a dancer as William, but she vastly preferred his company. If only because she could trust him, his chest was warm and solid, and his grip was the only thing keeping her from a full blown freak out.

"If you want, I could spew off a thousand pointless bird facts to fill the conversation."

Gen laughed at that, genuinely laughed for the first time all night. For a second, she forgot about almost being assaulted by the governor's son, and just focused on the young man staring down at her.

"We haven't had a lot of time by ourselves, have we?" she asked, realizing that this was the first one-on-one conversation they'd had.

"Not as much as I would have liked, no."

"We'll have to change that."

From over Hugo's shoulder, Gen spied Evangeline and Lucas Aubry on the edge of the dance floor. Whatever hesitation they had at breakfast the other day was gone, because neither seemed to care if they were seen dancing with the other, not even by Delphine who was cutting them glares from where she brooded in the corner with her glass of sparkling water. Gen had never seen Evangeline smile so widely, or Lucas blush that deeply. It was like the rest of the world just melted away, and Gen selfishly wished she herself could find something like that by coincidence. It would have made her life so much easier.

"They seem to be getting along well."

At first, Gen thought that Hugo was talking about Vange and Lucas, and her heart skipped a beat. She was supposed to be protecting them, making sure no one ruined a pure, simple thing with their accusations.

"Who?"

"Your brother and my best friend."

Gen followed Hugo's line of sight, and sure enough, he was watching Beau laugh ridiculously at something that the tall man next to him said. Beau had a hand placed on the man's upper arm, a flirtatious gesture that his counterpart was definitely into.

"Beau gets along with anyone who gives him attention," Gen shrugged, not surprised at this behavior in the slightest.

"Funny, so does Anton."

Gen laughed once more, even though it wasn't particularly amusing. Maybe it was just the ridiculousness of this entire exchange. Maybe it was Gen finally opening her eyes. How had she been sleeping on Hugo this entire time? It was probably for the best; one less guy she had to worry about falling in love with her. However, Hugo looked pretty damn smitten from this angle, a goofy grin never leaving his face as they finished their dance.

Gen recognized the guest she ran into from a memorable three a.m video chat.

"Princess Gen!" Blaire Moreau screeched, unable to contain her excitement. Her dress shook with her, layers of blue beading and fringe waving as she jumped up and down on her toes.

"Uh uh," Arlo shook his head, immediately rushing to restrain his sister so that she didn't tackle Gen to the ground. "Nope. You promised me if I let you come, you'd act normal."

Blaire had no intention of listening to her brother, walking forward in a daze.

"It's really her _ah mon Dieu_..."

Blaire could hardly believe her eyes, irises going as wide as saucers as she blanched. Gen got worried that the girl was about to pass out. Thankfully, Arlo was already on top of things, anticipating this kind of reaction.

"Come on Blaire, this is embarrassing," Arlo hissed, his face flushing bright red as Blaire started to hyperventilate. "I think you broke her."

"I'll just come back later then," Gen suggested, already walking away.

"Probably for the best," Arlo agreed, glaring down at his sister who was definitely about to pass out. "Are there any sofas or anything around here?"

"You know where the sitting room is," Gen reminded, pointing down the hall. "Second door to the left."

Arlo nodded gratefully and tugged Blaire along. The younger girl did not take her eyes off Gen, walking backwards the entire way down the hall as to not let Gen out of her sight. It was kind of creepy and kind of endearing at the same time. Gen couldn't help but feeling a little bad. Blaire had waited all this time to meet her and wasn't able to get anything out other than some indiscernible screeches.

On her way to the food - because, if she were being honest, the food was the only part of a party other than the booze worth staying for - she ended up queuing behind another friendly face.

"Looks like Freya's found herself a new fan," Gen teased as she sauntered up to Merlin.

The model only cracked a smile, smoothing down the sleeves to the cornflower blue jacket which matched the loose fitting pants and complimented the pastel floral scarf draped around his shoulders. It was a look only he could pull off.

"I figured, if she's about to be my new boss, that I might as well start repping her brand."

"And it doesn't hurt that you pull it off oh so well."

Merlin smirked, his eyes crinkling around the corners. Gen looked down to see that his plate was mostly full of veggie sticks and a meatballs, while she was about to reach for some of the lemon tarts. The contrast was laughable, as it was the last time they went out to eat. However, Merlin also had a plate loaded with brownies stacked on top of the other, which was pretty out of place.

"Breaking the rules?"

Merlin rolled his eyes and jerked his head in the other direction. "You know how friends are - you go and get something and suddenly everyone else needs something too."

Together, they started walking off in the direction of his entourage. Though the Selected were really supposed to ask only one or two people, Merlin had brought three, not including Lucas Travert who lingered on the fringes only to steal a brownie from the proffered plate.

"Gen, you remember Ileana right?"

"Yeah, good to see you," Gen said, smiling as best she could without having a panic attack. When Gen's eyes locked onto the red-head's, her heart automatically seized, and she had to remind herself that Ileana was blackout that fateful night, and therefore was completely harmless. Of course, it didn't help Gen's nerves that Ileana showed up literally looking like sin in a skin-tight red dress that left nothing to the imagination, and Gen briefly wondered if she picked that style on purpose. "I don't remember seeing you on the guest list."

"It was a last minute thing," she replied a little too casually.

Ileana said nothing else, only offering a thin, red-lipped smile. Gen didn't like that one bit, but didn't have time to dwell before Merlin was dragging along someone new in a silver, crystal covered dress.

"I'd like you to meet my twin sister, Constance."

Gen could definitely see the resemblance. It was in the nose and the pout of the lips, but then again, both siblings looked like they could be models. Constance was gorgeous; there was no denying that with her dark flawless skin, killer dimples, and perfectly styled black hair. What really stood out though were her eyes: one bright blue and the other a deep brown. She beamed at Gen as she pulled her in for a hug, removing any pretense that came along with titles.

"It's so nice to meet you!" she gushed emphatically, skin stretching over her cheekbones in a way that had to hurt, and Gen wondered why she was trying so hard. "Merls keeps going on and on about you and what you did for him."

"It was nothing," Gen waved off, feeling a rush of pride that she was able to make a good difference in someone's life. Made her feel like less of an asshole. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't miss a chance like this in the world."

" _This_ is the sister you keep going on about?" Lucas Travert asked, finally catching up with the conversation. "She looks like your clone, dude!"

Constance's head swiveled to Merlin, eyes narrowing. "You talk about me?"

"Only the best things, I promise," he assured, hands up in surrender. "You know how much I adore you."

Constance rolled her eyes, but Gen could tell that the motion was exaggerated for everyone else's sake. Something still seemed to gnaw at her, though she tried her best to hide it. Gen could tell by the way that she fidgeted at her wrists, even though they were covered by her white satin gloves. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"I sense a fight brewing," came another voice creeping in on the group. It belonged to a woman in a kaleidoscope dress with wild brown hair pulled up haphazardly, like she was only half-finished getting ready. As soon as Constance caught sight of her, she relaxed.

"Ah, this..." Merlin said as he steered the young woman Gen's way, "is our good friend Chelsea."

"The artist, right?" Gen asked, and Chelsea nodded, pleased that her work was recognized.

"The one and only," she boasted, puffing out her chest comically. "May I just say that this party is kick a - " She didn't get the chance to complete the thought before getting distracted by a wandering cheese platter. Gen could relate. Cheese was delicious. Once she came back, napkin full of cheese cubes, she looked at the group curiously. "What were we talking about?"

"You were about to curse in front of the princess," Merlin prompted, biting the side of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"I was?" Chelsea asked, eyes going wide as she gasped, "Shit!" Her eyes went wider, hand flying over her mouth as she realized her mistake. "Oh no! Fuck!"

Chelsea's vocabulary was a stream that could not stop, and Gen could not help but laugh along with the rest of the group. Even if Chelsea was beat red and pretty much dying of embarrassment.

"This is why I love you," Constance teased, pulling Chelsea into a hug so that she could bury her face into Constance's shoulder and hide from the world.

"Wow, you two have gotten close," Merlin commented, looking at the scene curiously.

"Actually, Roy, we've been meaning to tell you..." Constance trailed off, gathering up her courage and lacing her fingers through the brunette's. "Chelsea and I are together."

Gen nearly choked on her drink. She'd had a suspicion that there was more to the pair than met the eye; she had only hoped that Merlin wasn't going to be blindsided. But apparently, he was. Merlin stared at his twin as if she had grown another head as the tension in the group grew.

"For how long?"

"A few weeks now."

"A few weeks..." Merlin mused, running through the dates in his head, trying to make sense of it. Mostly, he looked upset at Chelsea. "So when I tried to get you out to celebrate my modeling contract and you said your 'muse' was keeping you at home...you really meant my sister?"

"Merls, it's not like that," Chelsea implored, guilt riddled across her face. "This has been a long time coming. You know that. We wanted to tell you, but we just didn't know how."

"I'm going to leave you guys to talk things out," Gen said, patting Merlin on the shoulder supportively before getting the hell out of there.

The next champagne tray she passed, she plucked two flutes from and downed them both right after each other. That was a loaded conversation that she was glad to skip out on. Even the few seconds she caught were bad. And she thought that her night was complicated...

" _Votre Altesse._ "

Gen shuddered at the gratingly snobby voice. Now her night was even more complicated.

"Monsieur Bellerose," Gen replied stiffly, puffing up her posture as if preparing for a confrontation.

"You look...lovely..." he complimented tersely, his mind visibly working to come up with the perfectly strategic word.

"You look..." Gen trailed off, finding nothing unique in his classic black tux except for the exceptional, expensive cut. And, of course, the ruby cufflinks. What she really wanted to say was, _it was easy to spray paint garbage gold_ , but settled for, "You clean up nicely. But then again, we've done this dance before. I wasn't too impressed the first time."

Gen swore she saw the vein in his forehead bulge.

"I was wondering, if you do not mind, if you would do me the service of meeting my father."

For a moment, Gen could not process the request because she had just assumed that, even though she read that he had a father on paper, a creature like Lochan was grown from a petri dish in some sterile lab or hatched from an egg or summoned from the deepest depths of hell. Now, he wanted her to meet his maker? It was weird, and Gen really wanted to make up some lame excuse, but Lochan looked strangely hopeful and also...concerned? Not for her but for himself, which was strange. Sweat was subtly beaded at the corner of his forehead and she wondered if the pressure of this potential introduction was making him nervous.

She didn't know why she agreed. She didn't know why she nodded her head and followed Lochan across the room to one of the barely-occupied tables. She didn't know why her heart was beating faster the closer she got to a short middle-aged white man with a salt and pepper beard clad in a similarly expensive black tux and an expression cold enough to rival icebergs.

Lochan stopped short of the man, turning to gesture to Gen.

"Father, may I introduce Princesse Geneviève."

"A pleasure," the older man acquiesced as he bowed his head shortly, though he made no move to pay any more respect.

 _So, he thinks he's Dieu, just like his son,_ Gen made a mental note, trying not to hate him right off the bat.

"How are you enjoying the party, Monsieur Bellrose?"

"Governors, politicians, what nasty creatures," Monsieur Bellerose scoffed, unimpressed by the lot. "I would have rather spent my night at the firm."

Lochan schooled his emotions into something tight and unreadable, but Gen was observant. That had to have hurt.

"I am glad you were able to attend, Father," Lochan said tightly, though Gen could not say she felt the same, and so remained quiet through the tense, awkward silence that swallowed them.

"This whole ordeal is rather queer, wouldn't you say?" Monsieur Bellerose posed, most likely thinking he was funny, but Gen did not approve of his word choice at all, especially the way he twisted it to mean something negative. Gen could have been imagining it, but Lochan seemed to stiffen as well, though he remained painfully silent.

"Queer?"

"It isn't very French, now is it?" he huffed, the words a crueler echo of similar ones Lochan had spoken before. The older man's nose wrinkled as he took a look around the room, no doubt spotting all of the Selected in their mix-matched suits and their non-socialite guests. The entire premise looked as though it disgusted him. "Though, it is no secret that society has changed since I was young, has become a little more liberal than I am accustomed. The monarchy must serve the common people as well, I suppose."

"If the monarchy has lowered itself so much in your eyes, Sir, then why encourage your son to participate? I'm sure there are tons of other fine, rich ladies to choose from." Gen challenged, not liking this man one bit. It was easy to see where Lochan learned his bad behaviors if he was raised by this elitist asshole.

The older man clapped his son on the shoulder. Gen did not miss how Lochan winced.

"If there is one thing I taught my son, it is the value of opportunity. Never let one slip through your fingers."

"Father, excuse me but I was about to ask the princess if she would be so kind as to share a dance."

Gen would have rather gone up and asked William Merce, but she took pity on Lochan. He seemed to want to escape his father's stifling atmosphere as much as Gen did. So she agreed, and Lochan swiftly arranged them on the dance floor.

They both looked pointedly away from each other and could not be more separate even though they were only an arm's length away. That was fine with her. It gave her time to digest what had just happened, what she had just learned that shifted the entire way she looked at Lochan Bellerose.

"I know," Gen found herself saying against her better judgement, wishing she had just chomped down on her bottom lip and kept quiet.

Lochan's head snapped down, dark eyes boring holes into her own, as if daring her to finish the thought. "Know what?"

"I know what it's like to want to please your parents. To be so desperate, you'd do anything, say anything. To want to live up to their standards, no matter what it costs."

"I don't know what you mean," Lochan said tersely, his lips pursed into a deep, thin line.

"Yes you do," Gen replied calmly, not giving into his efforts to push her away.

While some of the snobbery and the entitlement and the cruelty may have been just Lochan, the majority of it was his father. Years and years of life under the roof of a man like that, and it would turn anyone sour, and Lochan was spoiling. He was rotting away trying to win his father's approval, when he could not see that his father had more layers and more ice wrapped around his stone cold heart than his son. It hurt Gen to witness. It hurt more than she cared to admit.

Their dance ended abruptly, and it was Lochan who stepped away. He didn't even bow, not a single word, just simply walked off the dance floor leaving Gen with a million questions.

She knew she needed to move, but she was frozen. People were going to run into her. People were going to stare.

Then there was a familiar hand on her waist, and she was spinning circles once more.

"Everything alright?"

Seb looked down at her with concern, leading her around with surprising skill for someone so awkward and unsure.

"Yeah, it's just..." Gen trailed off, searching for Lochan in the crowd of indiscernible faces. "I thought I knew him."

"Who, Lochan?"

His surprise was warranted. Lochan was...complicated. He was an ass, yes. He was also impossible to reason with and set in his ways. But could his bad behaviors be faulted if he was just trying to do what he thought would win his father's love? The jury was still out. And for some reason, it made Gen's conscience knot up into something akin to sympathy.

"I thought I knew everything I needed to write him off, but I was wrong."

"You sound upset about that," Seb noticed, not judging but simply observing. "Do you like him?"

"No, more like I pity him."

They both thought in silence, and when the song did end, stood in silence. Gen was too preoccupied with her whirling mind while Seb fiddled with his cuffs, running a hand through his hair as he looked about nervously.

"Have I done something wrong?"

Gen snapped back to the present, looking at Seb as if he had grown a second head. "No, why would you think that?"

"We haven't spoken since the bridge..."

Guilt crawled its way into Gen's chest as she realized he was right. She hadn't meant to be avoiding him, just as she had not meant to distance herself from Beau, but shit had just been happening at a rapid rate. It was hard to keep up.

"Seb, it's been like, a week since that happened. I've been busy," Gen assured, wanting Seb to know that she was not intentionally keeping her distance. Sure, she supposed that it was a little weird the morning after the confession, but since then, she really hadn't given it a second thought. Having someone know didn't weigh on her like she thought it would. She trusted Seb, and she knew he would keep his word. "You have been so kind and so sweet with me, and I don't deserve it."

Slowly, Seb started to lighten up. The worried creases in his forehead smoothed over, and they fell back into their usual ease.

"I hope you've been having fun," Gen said with a smile, looking around the room discretely. "Who'd you bring with you? I'd love to meet them."

"It's just me tonight."

"You didn't - "

"Mom had to work, sister had to follow, and my dad had to stay and close down his patisserie," he said with a shrug as if it were no big deal, but Gen could see how much it stung, especially watching everyone else having fun with their friends and family.

"I'm sorry Seb."

Another shrug. "Nothing you could've done about it."

"I could have issued a royal mandate. Forced them to come and have fun."

Seb let out a chuckle. "I appreciate it. But really, I'm happy just being here with you."

Gen felt her heart melt in her chest as she squeezed Seb's hand. He was such a good guy, far too pure to be hanging around her.

"One more dance, I insist," Gen persuaded, pulling Seb back onto the dance floor. If he could not have his family there with him, the least she could do was keep him company.

"I'll be right back," Seb said reluctantly as he stepped away. "I promised Ulysse I'd hold onto his phone while he went to the restroom. I don't think he'd appreciate me holding it hostage."

"A good friend toe everyone it seems," Gen teased, letting him go.

She swayed on the dance floor, dodging dancing couples. There weren't that many, not enough guests to make the room packed or uncomfortable. Which meant that she was an easy target for a girl with a precocious nature and infinite jingling bracelets.

"Neelam, what are you doing?"

"Dancing. I thought that was obvious."

"Why are you dancing with me?"

"Why not? Everyone else gets to," Neelam shrugged as she swayed to the music, one hand placed strategically on Gen's shoulder while the other grasped Gen's free hand as she took the lead. "Besides, we both know I'm the better dancer. I thought I would come over and help you out, make people believe you don't have two left feet."

"I do not have two left feet," Gen retorted, affronted by the slight. Neelam only grinned cheekily. As if to prove her point, she maneuvered out in a flawless spin that made her skirt swirl like something out of a movie before tucking herself back under Gen's arm. She was hypnotizing, and Gen stumbled due to sheer distraction.

Neelam only sniggered. "You were saying?"

"Shut up."

Against her better judgement, Gen did dance the whole song with Neelam. If dancing was really what they were doing, and not Neelam blatantly showing off every complex move she knew just to make Gen look bad. At first, it was annoying. Then, it became clear that Neelam was poking fun at herself, and maybe, just maybe Gen allowed her self to get caught up in the ridiculousness. One of the best dances of the night, if she had to rank them.

After that, Gen's feet were killing her. She had lost track of how much time she had spent dancing, and she knew she still had yet to make her rounds with Dante and Ulysse and Anatole, but her feet felt like she hadn't stoped moving in hours. A break was well deserved, and so she made her way to the back of the room where more tables were. It was still too noisy there, not nearly as relaxing as Gen wanted it to be, so she left the ballroom altogether in search of a sitting room that wasn't occupied by a drunk couple or a hyperventilating Blaire Moreau.

Noises distracted her from her search about half way through. They were coming from a coat closet around the corner, gasping and giggling that sounded masculine to her ears.

"What the hell..."

Gen threw open the closet door, only to immediately need to bleach her eyeballs.

Beau was standing in the closet - jacket off, shirt unbuttoned, and hair rumpled - while William _fucking_ Merce scrambled up from his knees, using one hand to cover the swollen quality of his mouth. William, at least, had the good sense to look embarrassed. Beau, on the other hand, just started laughing while he tucked his shirt back into his pants.

Gen reached into the closet and pulled her brother out by the ear, not caring about how much it obviously hurt as she shoved his stumbling body up against the wall. She was livid. No, she was beyond livid at his carelessness.

"Guards!" she shouted into the hall. It would take them a minute to reach her. Plenty of time to rip into her brother.

Who was currently passed out. Great.

Even more infuriated, Gen turned to William.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she hissed, backing William against the door of the closet.

"I made a mistake. I'm sorry. Please don't tell my father," William begged, eyes wide and desperate for mercy. It was pitiful.

"Give me one good reason why."

"I didn't want to, okay. I swear!"

"You mean Beau forced you to your knees and - "

"No! No, I mean...I mean...it's not what it looks like," William stumbled over his words, working himself up into a frenzy, like his life was crashing in around him. "It's my father. He's not content just being Governor anymore. He wants a better position in the government, something with more power, and if he can't get it himself, he wants to have it through me."

"So what? You come here and seduce royalty, test your luck with the heir, then the spare, and if you couldn't get me or Beau you'd what? Try for my sisters?" Gen accused, looking disgusted. "They're _sixteen_ , still practically _children_."

"No, not them! I swear, it's not what I meant," he assured, looking horrified at her assumption.

"Then enlighten me," Gen snarled, holding back the urge to deck William and ruin those perfectly white teeth.

"My father...he..." William hesitated, eyes darting around the room, as if terrified of saying any more lest someone overhear. "He said that if I didn't do what he said, he'd hurt Clementine."

Gen felt like someone had punched her in the gut. Just the implications in that sentence made her sick.

"Those are some loaded accusations."

"Please, you have to believe me. I have no reason to lie," William insisted, looking miserable. " _Dieu_...if he knew that I'm telling you..."

Gen wanted to hate William. She wanted to throw him out of Versailles by the collar of his ridiculously expensive shirt. But he looked so ruined. Like his world was falling apart, nothing but sheer terror and mercy written in his eyes. If he was lying, he was damn impressive. Better than any other liar Gen had ever encountered.

"I have to tell my mother. You know I do," she stated firmly, and if it were possible, all color drained from William's face.

"You can't."

Fear escalated, and Gen could see him shaking in his shoes. He reached out and grasped Gen by the hand, moments away from falling on his knees and begging for her silence.

"I have a responsibility to."

If this was true, then her mother had a right to know. This was the government in jeopardy. This was her mother's, and by extension her own, legacy at risk. If they had let a moster like that slip under their noses for so long...then there was a greater problem at hand.

However, William was unwilling to relent.

"At least just...not tonight. Please. Not tonight."

Perhaps it was the shattered expression on his face, or the fact that someone was having a rougher night that she was, but Gen felt her heartstrings tug. She was crumbling. She was going to give in, if only a little.

"Okay, not tonight," Gen agreed, taking a step back. She felt bad for William, she really did. His accusations against his father were terrible, and she prayed to _Dieu_ that they weren't true, but if they were, then she was in for one hell of a storm. She could definitely use a breather before facing that as well.

Finally, the guards she called came rounding the corner.

"Would you please escort Monseiur Merce to one of the guest rooms? I think he's had enough partying for one night. And get me my brother's valet so he can escort the prince back to his room as well," Gen instructed, the uniformed men nodding and walking to either side of William. He still looked spooked, like Gen was really going to have him dragged off to the dungeon. She leaned in close so that only he could hear. "Get some sleep. We'll deal with this in the morning."

William nodded, giving the guards skeptical looks before shuffling off with them. Gen watched him go, pinching the bridge of her nose, staving off the large headache that was growing in her chaotic mind. This night was trying to kill her. Between crazy dances, guests, and now sexual scandals, she was about at her limit.

"What happened here?" Marcel asked as he rushed into view, eyes roving from the departing guards over to Beau's unconscious form slumped up against the wall.

"What does it look like?" Gen asked sarcastically, to which Marcel only rolled his eyes.

The valet lowered himself to Beau's level, placing one hand on the prince's shoulder while the hand reached out to check for any kind of bumps or bruises. Marcel brushed Beau's hair out of his eyes, tapping gently on Beau's cheek to wake him up, blue eyes unfocused and wandering around the room.

"Come on _Votre Altesse_ ," Marcel encouraged without much energy, tired of finding his employer in this kind of situation: half dressed and ten sheets to the wind. Gen felt bad for him, she really did. And she thought that she put Elyan through too much shit. "You need to get up."

"You're really pretty, you know that?" Beau slurred, a dopey smile on his face.

"You're drunk," Marcel replied dryly, dodging Beau's attempts to lurch forward and hug him.

" _Ouais_..." Beau agreed, giggling. "And you're still pretty."

"You can tell me all about that once we get you to bed,"

"Are you going to join me?" Beau asked, wagging his eyebrows ridiculously. In this state, Beau had lost any and all sense of suave he usually had. Marcel only rolled his eyes.

"Definitely not."

"Then I'm not getting up," Beau pouted.

"If you refuse to get up on your own, then I will be resorted to throwing you over my back and carrying you up the stairs."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me," Marcel challenged, standing his ground as he extended a hand for Beau to take at his leisure. It was his choice.

"Fine," Beau grumbled, deftly pulling on Marcel's hand to stand himself up on wobbly knees. He almost immediately fell back over, but Marcel caught him, one arm snaked under Beau's while the other hand was placing support on his abdomen.

"Are you alright?"

"'m fine..." Beau slurred, stumbling a few steps. "Is the room spinning?"

"If you throw up on me, I will drop you," Marcel warned.

"Thank you for doing this," Gen said to Marcel, eternally grateful. "I don't know what I would have done."

"My pleasure, _Votre Altesse_ ," Marcel replied, though she doubted he was being sincere, as there was no pleasure in dealing with a sloppy drunk, royal or not. "You should head back to the party before someone notices you're missing."

Gen nodded, knowing he was right. She had spent too much time in the shadows - time she needed to be spending with her Selected in front of the cameras, putting on a good act. Especially after her public date with Lochan was something of a disaster.

She would stay until Marcel had Beau safely up the stairs, and that was it. It took a while, and a lot of stumbling, but they made in one piece, and only then did Gen let out a giant sigh.

"Whoa, what a show," came a feminine voice. Gen turned around to see Ileana leaning up against the wall a few feet away, looking on at the scene with amusement. How much she saw or heard was unknown, but Gen was much more concerned about what she was going to say now. The expression on her face looked innocent enough, but Gen knew better. There was enough of that devious sparkle that she knew all too well.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was invited," she replied cheekily. "I knew there would be dinner and dancing, but the free show really takes the cake. I loved seeing this intense side of you. Between us girls, are you jealous that your brother stole William from you? I wouldn't blame you; siblings can be a bitch or so I've heard. But, I guess he really wasn't your type, you know?"

"No, I don't know," Gen refuted, narrowing her eyes, not liking where this was heading.

"I think you do," Ileana challenged, and the atmosphere in the room turned ice cold. Gen's stomach dropped, and she braced herself for what the Devil in a Red Dress had coming. "You see, I have this really fuzzy memory from that night we went to the dance club. It's not all there, but I remember being in that bathroom. I remember wanting to do things to you. I remember you wanting to do those same things to me..."

"You're out of your damn mind."

"Am I?" Ileana asked, faux innocent while she clearly enjoyed ruffling Gen's feathers. "It felt very, _very_ real. And then, I saw you dancing with that girl, and things just _clicked_."

She snapped her fingers for emphasis, long pointed nails clicking like talons against each other, making Gen flinch. But she refused to bow down so easily.

"What do you want from me, Ileana?"

"Nothing much...well, nothing that'll blow too big a hole in the royal budget," Ileana sing-songed, side-stepping Gen so that she could admire her surroundings, as if seeing herself living in equivalent luxury. "I'm guessing you want to keep this dirty little secret under wraps, so if you want my silence, it's going to cost you."

Gen scoffed, not believing her ears. "Are you blackmailing me?"

"That's such an ugly word," Ileana tutted, though that was exactly what she was doing and she knew it - looked proud of it even. She must have been patting herself on the back: _Good job Ileana, you clever girl, outsmarting the princess to get exactly what you want_. Child's play, or so she thought, basking in her winnings though the game was not yet over.

Didn't Ileana know the queen was the most powerful piece on the board? This was Gen's game, and she was just a pawn.

"An ugly word for an ugly girl," Gen replied, a cool fury washing over her as Ileana frowned at the insult. She didn't feel the usual burn of anger, the uncontrollable violent swirl of emotions that she had previously felt in dealing with her brother. No, instead she felt resolve. A cold indifference for the ruination she was about to bring. "You people think you can come in here and fuck with me and my family? My future? No. Let me tell you how things are really going to go. You're not going to tell anyone about that night, and you're not going to receive a lick of change for it."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I will _ruin_ you," Gen said, taking a step forward into Ileana's personal space to make sure she got the message, unleashing all the hell she had pent up over the night into this one vow. "If you so much as breathe a single word to anyone - the papers, the tabloids, your friends, your family, your priest, your dog - I will make sure you never have a career in fashion. I will blacklist you from every single modeling agency in the country, every advertising department, every TV station, _everything_. By the time I'm done with you, you won't even be allowed to hold a camera, none the less pose for one. Do I make myself clear?"

Ileana nodded, her plan successfully ruined.

"Good," Gen said and leaned in, bringing her lips to Ileana's ear. "Now get out of my house."

Ileana's bottom lip trembled, whether out of anger or to quell the tears building in the corners of her eyes, Gen could not tell, and she did not care. She did not even get satisfaction in watching the red head storm down the hall, yanking her jacket off the stack of countless others before guards made to flank her as they monitored her departure.

 _This is power,_ she thought as she unclenched her fists, looking down upon the fresh beads of blood that stung at nail-bitten palms.

It felt an awful lot like ruination.


	22. One, Two, Three Strikes You're Out

A/N: This chapter deals with the fallout of the last one (and delivers a twist on a classic line from the actual Selection series). Not much moving with the Selection, but some movement with the plot and the characters. Hope you all enjoy! Thanks so much for being amazing readers and staying loyal and patient with me :)

* * *

One, Two, Three Strikes You're Out

There were many words Gen could have used to describe last night: Disastrous. Terrible. Humiliating. Sickening. The word Gen always came back to, though, was enlightening.

She had learned a lot about herself last night, mostly about how far she was willing to go to keep up this terrible charade.

When she was younger, Grandmère would ask her, 'What would you give up to serve this nation?'

Gen knew the answer now.

She would give up her soul. Her morals. Her standards. Those were all out the door the moment she decided to take a dig at Ileana. That was what it was supposed to be. A dig. Nothing more. Just a scare tactic to give that bitch a taste of her own medicine. Gen had just been so fed up, so sick of being pushed around by everyone. She just wanted some control, and so she went too far. She jumped into the dark side head first and let herself drown in it.

Now, she sat staring blankly into her bowl of oatmeal as if she could find some sort of escape in the simplicity of it, or maybe just drown in it as well. It would save her from the awkward silence that surrounded the breakfast table. Maman had yet to address Gen, chomping irritably at her toast as she and Papa scoured their own separate papers. Both were frowning, though, so it must not have been good. There was no way of telling how much her parents knew from the night before. She was an idiot to assume they were ignorant to what went on behind their walls, closed door or not.

William Merce and family had left at the crack of dawn to catch the first flight back to Martinique, and Gen was not sure how she felt about that. She was glad that they were out of her hair, but also she was worried. Worried for William now that he was alone with his father. Worried for Clementine for the same reason. Worried that she was worrying over nothing because William could just be a pathological liar. But then she thought about the Governor's smile, how wolfish it was and the bad vibes she had picked up, and William's words didn't feel like lies.

Gen took a gulp of her coffee, scorching her tongue in the process. The pain helped her think, made things clearer. She had told William she would wait the night. It was morning now, and he was half a world away. She owed him nothing else.

"Maman..."

Her mother's head swiveled, and Gen immediately regretted opening her mouth. She should have just waited until she was addressed. Maybe then, she wouldn't get a death glare.

 _"Quoi?"_

Gen swallowed thickly. There was no backing out now.

"I need to tell you something about last night...about William Merce."

"Oh?" Maman asked, her voice high with false surprise. As if she had expected Gen to say something on the subject. Except she couldn't have known. There was no way of guessing at what Gen had to say. "Does it happen to relate to the fact that multiple of our esteemed guests saw the two of you sneaking off into darkened hallways? Or does this have to do with where you let him put his hands on the dance floor?"

"What? No!" Gen spluttered, feeling defensive. She did not like what her mother was insinuating, and was mortified. But that was another fight for later. "William Merce...he...made claims against his father."

"What kind of claims?"

"He told me that his behavior last night wasn't his choice, that he was pressured into acting that way because his father wanted to use him to climb up the ladder in the government," Gen confessed, feeling her chest become lighter the more she told, but that didn't rid the disguising taste in her mouth as she got out the next bit. "He said that...he said that his father threatened to hurt Clementine if he didn't do it."

Maman's eyebrows shot sky high, but her face betrayed no emotion other than scrutiny. Like the gears in her brain were already working trying to solve this problem. "Hurt how?"

"I don't know...but you should have seen his face Maman. It couldn't have been good."

" _Mon Dieu..._ " Papa sighed, throwing down his reading glasses alongside his paper and scrubbing his face, as if he could wash away the disgusting inhumanity of the situation.

"What are we going to do?"

"Obviously we need to investigate the claims before we take any action against the Governor," Maman said matter-of-factly, no doubt already concocting an exigency plan.

"And if the claims are true?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"But if they're true," Gen reinforced, not letting this go even though Maman did not want to think of the worst case scenario. "What will happen? You'll remove Clementine and William from the Governor's care, won't you? You'll make sure they're safe."

"Of course," Papa assured with vehement enthusiasm. "We would do everything we could for those children."

"This is not just about the children. Things are complicated," Maman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose while reaching over to grasp Papa's hand for support. "This is your Grandmère's legacy we are talking about. If the Governor is found guilty, then the integrity of the entire government could be called into question, and I cannot protect _La Reine_ from that kind of inquiry. Everything would fall apart. Everything we've been trying to keep quiet would be exposed. Trust in the monarchy would be shattered. We would be undone."

Gen mulled over this information, digested the significance and severity alongside her oatmeal. It did not sit well in her stomach. As much as she did not want a huge hole blown in the infrastructure of the French government, she also did not feel comfortable rolling over and living with this information and doing nothing about it.

"Just how did you come across this information?" Maman asked, looking at Gen with a mix of curiosity and suspicion now. "William Merce just...told you?"

"Well, I kind of had to beat it out of him," Gen admitted much to Maman's alarm, so she rapidly amended her statement. "Not really beat. More like intimidate. I caught him in a sensitive situation, and he was so scared shitless, I think he would have told me anything I asked."

"Sensitive situation?"

Gen's skin crawled under the scrutiny of Maman's gaze.

"With Beau..."

No more had to be said. Maman seemed to fill in the gaps, and by the danger that flashed in her normally calm eyes, Gen could tell that she knew. She knew what had happened, she just didn't know with who. Now, she did, and if Maman's face grew any more red, Gen thought her head would explode. All she wanted to do was crawl under the table and disappear.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, for Beau chose that moment to saunter into the dining hall clad in his finest sweats and a large pair sunglasses.

"Breakfast starts at the same time every day in this house. Where have you been?" Maman demanded, fist curled so tightly around her butter knife that her knuckles turned white.

"Please, not so loud," Beau requested dramatically, rubbing at his temples while he scooped a spoonful of sugar into his coffee. "My head is killing me."

"Probably because you're still hungover," Gen quipped, to which Beau only scowled.

"And there lies the problem," Maman said dryly, glaring at both she and Beau as if they were her greatest disappointments. Gen knew what that face meant, and she strapped in for the lecture of a lifetime. "You have so little regard for the integrity of the crown, of the position you were granted."

"Are you really going to do this here?" Gen asked, looking awkwardly between the Selected who were still very much present and very uncomfortable with how quickly things were escalating.

"You talk like I had a choice in the matter," Beau replied, trying to defend himself. "I didn't ask to be a prince. I was born one."

"I guess you really are doing this..." Gen mumbled to herself, sinking into her seat and wishing she could disappear.

"Yes, and you reap the benefits of it without ever thinking of the consequences of your actions," Maman reprimanded, and this time, Beau had no remarks. "Did you even stop to consider what being with William Merce would have looked like? The media would have had a frenzy! Did you even think about how that was going to reflect on the family?"

"What? That I was caught in the act or that it was _gay_?" Beau spat, glaring at Maman with offense. "Would you even care if it had been Clementine?"

There is was. What every argument circled back to.

"This has _nothing_ to do with that," Maman fired back. "It has to do with you and your poor decisions! Getting drunk at a _state affair_ , making an ass of yourself the _entire_ night, and then getting caught in the middle of illicit conduct with the governor's son? It was if you were purposely trying to cause a scandal!"

"It's not like anyone saw! Gen was the one who found me!"

"That's not the point, and you know it."

"I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment."

"No, I'm sorry. Apparently I have failed in my duties as a mother, because I have raised a careless, remorseless delinquent," Maman apologized, though it was clear by the resentment in her voice that her overall disappointment was with Beau and not herself. "I have let your behavior remained unchecked for too long. I have let you fall into a litany of bad habits, and William Merce is just the icing on the cake. You're too used to creating messes and having them cleaned up for you. You've been spoiled rotten your entire life. I'm done with it."

Beau just looked at her in contempt. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I think it is in your best interest to spend some time away from Versailles, and France as a whole."

The anger started to fade, replaced by confusion. Gen felt like she couldn't breathe. Without the blinders of rage, she could see where this conversation was headed. The cliff was right up ahead, and Maman was about to push their teetering boat over the falls.

"Like a vacation?"

"Longer," Maman corrected, pushing over a file full of papers. "I think you should take a look at these applications. Universities in Illéa are still accepting them until the end of February. They've all been vetted and certified to provide a quality education."

This was worse than any slow motion car crash. Gen felt like she was going to be sick. By the way Beau's face blanched and how he flinched away from the file as if it had bit him, he was feeling the same.

"Are you serious?" Beau shouted, his voice an octave higher than usual as he pulled out the papers in abject horror, shaking hands rifling through the thin stack. His eyes were glassing over in the way they did whenever he was desperately trying not to cry, hot angry tears built up in the corners of those sparkling baby blues. He looked so broken. "You want to send me away?"

They were the words of a scared, lost child, and they made Gen flinch, made her heart ache. This could not be happening. _This could not be happening._

"You need to start becoming more responsible. I won't always be there to pick you up when you fall. Neither will your father. Neither will Gen. Time spent on your own, away from the city will do you some good."

"Did you know about this?" Beau asked, head swiveling towards Gen, who only shook her head deftly in denial. Then, he turned his judgement on Papa. "Did you?"

"Your mother and I agreed on this together," Papa admitted reluctantly and with much more sympathy for his son than Maman. "As much as it pains me to admit, you're headed down a bad path. I don't want to see anyone else get hurt."

"The only one you've hurt is me," he said as he stood, not even bothering to excuse himself from the table. No one stopped him either, Maman's line pursed in a thin line as she tracked every step of his walk of shame.

Delphine and Evangeline entered fresh from lessons with violins in hand as the fight concluded, just in time to get a glimpse of Beau storming out.

"Mighty early in the morning for a hissy fit, brother," Delphine sneered, taking in his heated, disheveled appearance.

"Fuck off Delphi," Beau growled, ramming her in the shoulder as he exited the dining hall.

The doors slammed behind him, shaking in their frames. Not that Gen could hear them between the cacophony of her ears ringing and her heart beating like a drum. Her brain screamed at her on loop: y _ou should have just kept your mouth shut. You should have just kept your mouth -_

"You have both hit an all new low," Gen said to her parents, unable to believe what had just went down.

"It had to be done," Papa shrugged, looking a bit helpless. "We don't know how else to help him."

"Help him?" Gen repeated incredulously. Could these people not hear how fucked up this logic was? Could they not see how they were talking out their asses? "You think shoving him away and shipping him off to Illéa is helping him?"

"Please, Geneviève," Maman sighed, tired of the conversation. "You act as if we are sending him to Siberia with the wolves. It's university. He'll have the freedom to study whatever he wants, and hopefully learn to get himself out of the trouble he creates. Or better yet, learn not to create trouble at all."

"And what if he just wastes your tuition and spends the whole time going to parties and bars?"

"Thank you for raising that point. We'll take the money out of his trust," Maman noted, making the situation a million times worse. "Maybe then he'll be more inclined to take things more seriously."

This was a bad dream. Just one, really long nightmare. But then why didn't Gen wake up when she pinched herself?

"What is going on?" Delphine asked, buttering a scone while she did the worst impression of someone who's intentions were pure. A blind man could see the amount of pleasure she was getting from this family spat.

"None of your business," Gen snapped, glaring at the snake that was her sister. "Go back to doing needlepoint or whatever it is you do when you're not trying to ruin people's lives."

"That was uncalled for," Maman said, frowning deeply. "Apologize to your sister."

"That girl is many things, but she is not my sister," Gen replied evenly, rising without being excused just as Beau had. "And the woman sitting in front of me? She's not my mother."

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. All eyes were on her, every single boy, her father, her mother, even little Louis who had been tearing his toast into shreds, all stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. As if she had dropped a bomb on them. They all flinched at the grating sound of her chair against the hardwood. Their heads swiveled as they tracked her path to the door.

"Geneviève, come back at once!" Maman shouted as Gen walked past the Selected with her head held high. She was not going to give in. She wouldn't bend. She had a point to make. "I am your mother and I order you to return to this table right now!"

Gen spun around, and in that moment, it wasn't her mother staring her down. It was her subject.

"I am the future Queen of France, and _no one_ is more powerful than me."

* * *

"I heard you made quite the scene in the dining hall this morning," Grandmère said lazily as she fiddled with her knitting needles. For a woman of advanced age, she had quite nimble fingers, the grey expanse of a scarf winding its way to the floor. "I also heard that your brother got himself into a bit of trouble. Something about needing some time away from the spotlight."

"I don't want to talk about it," Gen dismissed. It was still a fresh subject, one she didn't think she could talk about without losing it again.

She had run by Beau's room after she left the dining hall, ready to fight for her brother, but he had refused to let her inside. She stood by the door for ten minutes, just listening to him cry and break things. Hopefully he had Marcel to set everything back, but the more she thought about it, the more that would just be proving her parents right.

Knitting needles stopped clicking for a moment, while ice blue eyes met Gen's in a pensive stare.

"Is that why you came to me? For silence?"

Honestly, Gen wasn't sure why she decided to seek out the old woman. It wasn't like she was particularly good company, and it wasn't like they had many commonalities anymore. No, she supposed that the main reason she sought Grandmère out was because it was the last place Maman would go looking for her, and she wanted as much time away from the woman as possible.

"No offense, Grandmère, but you're usually not this...lively..."

"You don't think I know that?" the old woman asked pointedly, silver eyebrows raised with just a touch of amusement. "I have cancer. I'm not insane. I have my good days just as I have bad ones."

The honesty of that statement knocked the air out of Gen's lungs. It felt like she had been punched, and she felt a horrible shame rise in her chest for assuming the worst of the woman who was giving her, and had given her, so much.

"Grandmère..." Gen started, hesitant to know the answer. "Did you know about the Governor? About...what he did to his daughter?"

"Do you really think if I knew, I would have let it happen?" Grandmère asked, no hurt or accusation in her eyes, just a weariness that suggested that maybe she was getting too old to do all of this, as though the world had worn her down. She sighed and shook her head, focusing on pulling yarn into knots. "I've known Merce for a long time. Forever, it seems. I always thought he was a good man. But that's the thing about monsters, my dear: they don't always look like them. They can live right under our noses for so long, we don't even notice they're there."

"Maman is a monster," Gen grumbled, feeling miserable. Just thinking about breakfast made her want to cry and throw up simultaneously. She couldn't even imagine how Beau felt, and he was the one who got the brunt of that fight. He was the one being outcast.

"No she is not."

"You didn't see her this morning. You didn't hear what she said."

No wonder Delphine was such a miserable wretch. Somewhere, deep inside Maman's bones, must live something truly horrible. All Gen's life, her mother had been so kind. All the stories about Princess Camille, every review from foreign ambassadors, diplomats, and royalty said she was the sweetest creature on the planet. Well, that woman might as well have been dead, because the woman parading around in her mother's skin was something terrible and cruel.

"Do you know why I requested you be queen instead of your mother?" Grandmère asked gently, and Gen shook her head, eager to know. "It is because she does not know how to handle the stress. She is spread too thin, taking on too much. She does not know how to be both mother and ruler, and both suffer as a consequence. But you, my precious Geneviève, you have always been so strong. You have the makings of a true ruler."

" _Merci, Grandmère,_ " Gen said, sincerely touched. "That means...that means more than you know."

"I know, my dear. I know."

Gen curled up at the foot of Grandmère's chair, pressed against the heavy fabric of her skirt. Like this, she felt like a child. She felt safe, protected from the unfair world beyond the window.

"I've missed you," she whispered, more to the fireplace than to the older woman. Still, she hummed her agreement, knitting needles clicking away in a comforting rhythm.

They sat that way for a while, neither one speaking up, Gen simply basking in the security of the only family member she could trust. She was warm and content, if only for this moment.

Then, a silver bell was rung, signaling the arrival of a guest.

"Ah, there he is. Right on time."

Grandmère set aside her knitting and nudged Gen up. It was far too late an hour to receive guests properly, and as far as Gen knew, the old woman didn't have very many friends. So, to add an extra layer of befuddlement, she was even more taken aback that it was one of her Selected that had come to pay a visit.

"Dante?" Gen asked, confused beyond belief. "What are you doing here?"

He also looked confused to see her there, like she was the stranger even though it was her house. He pointed from the grandfather clock, down to her, then back to the clock, a puzzled expression riddling his thick brow.

"I play chess with _la Reine_ every evening at six."

"Isn't he lovely? A true gentleman," Grandmère cooed as she stood from her seat by the fireplace to shuffle over to the tea table near the large windows that overlooked the gardens. There was a chessboard already intricately carved into the wood, but none of the pieces were set up.

" _Merci, Votre Majesté,_ " Dante replied with a nod of his head, happy with the compliment. Still, his eyes were fixed on Gen, giving her his full attention. "Is that alright with you?"

" _Oui_ ," Gen said as she nodded her head. "More than alright. I'm glad she has a friend. That's very kind of you."

"Well, the friendship is two sided," Dante said, making it clear that this was not an act of charity. For some reason, that made it all the purer. "We got to talking during our walk, and it turns out that we have a lot in common. Plus, she's pretty funny."

" _Non_ ," Gen gasped, swiveling to look at the old woman with wide eyes as she imagined the worst. "Just what have you been telling the poor boy?"

Grandmère shrugged her shoulders coyly, which only cemented the worst case scenario in Gen's mind. There was no determining what the old woman told, especially not on her bad days which had to be more frequent than the good. She could have divulged family secrets, matters of state, or worse...super embarrassing childhood stories of Gen. The horror had no end.

Gen's cheeks flushed and she ducked her head, burying her face into her hands.

" _Ah Mon Dieu_..."

Dante laughed and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, telling her without words that nothing the batty old woman could say would change how he thought about her. But then the laughter died down, and his expression took on a more serious, yet soft edge.

"Hey, are things alright with your mother? Breakfast was...tense..."

Gen gave a watery smile, grateful for the compassion of a simple hand on her shoulder.

"No, but they will be."

Dante nodded, but he didn't push, and Gen appreciated him even more.

"Come, sit down Gen, join us," Grandmère insisted, snapping her fingers so the guard positioned near the door could pull up an extra chair at the table. "We'll play cards tonight instead."

She did not have to be told twice.

Gen didn't know how long Grandmère's good spell would last, when her brain would turn into an endless maze and steal her away, but for now, Gen didn't worry about that. She cherished every second of this moment, pressing it into the pages of her memories for the both of them.


	23. 1001 Useless Bird Facts ft Dead Poets

A/N: Sorry for the wait! I feel like I blinked and February was over. This chapter is mostly fluff featuring two dates! Gen is a busy girl :) Side note that may not make sense now but will later in the chapter: Le Magasin de Suicides is a real French cartoon movie if you want to check it out: a musical about a family in a really sad city that owns a suicide shop. Hope you all enjoy! Thanks for being such wonderful readers! I love each and every one of you; your kind words and constant motivation makes my day!

* * *

1001 Useless Bird Facts ft. Dead Poets

After the excitement following the departure of William Merce, and the subsequent witch hunt that overtook her office looking for any and all incriminating evidence against the governor, dating was something Gen had forgotten about.

It wasn't like she just _forgot_ about the boys that lived with her, more like she forgot why they were there. They weren't just guests in her house; they weren't going to hop on planes and jet back to their home provinces. They also weren't just friendly faces who made her omelettes at midnight and played cards with Grandmère. She had to date them, and she distinctly remembering promising to get to know Hugo Leveque better before everything went to shit.

Gen wished the weather lent to doing something more fun than lunch. When she started this Selection, stereotypical boring dates were one of the things she was staunchly against. But, when it was snowing so heavily that the streets of Paris were being coated in a meter of white, it was better to stay by the fire where it was warm instead of venturing out to nightclubs and sports bars.

Besides, Hugo didn't seem to mind the mundaneness. He sat in his chair quietly, looking around the private dining room with mild curiosity, eyes wandering from the window to the fire to the spread of various sandwiches, fruits, and cheeses on the table. No doubt he was wondering why Gen had invited him there. It wasn't like she had had any one-on-one time with him before. Still, it wasn't unlike Gen to try to make an effort.

"So, do you really know a thousand random facts about birds?"

He cracked a thin smile. "Is it sad if I say yes?"

"Only a little," Gen teased.

Hugo did nothing to carry the conversation, going back to the familiar silence while they sipped at their tea. He seemed so different from the Governor's Ball - more cautious, like there were walls up. Maybe he was nervous; maybe he wasn't sure what to think. Gen sure as hell could relate to that.

"Did you know that your face is...very pleasing? Like in an aesthetic sense. Though, I'm not sure what other sense there would be..."

Gen's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. That was certainly unexpected.

"Are you...trying to flirt with me?" she asked, far too amused at his poorly-executed yet endearing attempt to be alarmed.

"Well - uh...maybe?" Hugo stuttered, running a hand through his hair and pulling. It was the tenth time that night he had done that, and Gen was starting to worry that he was going to pull whole chunks out if he got any more nervous.

"Your face is pretty aesthetically pleasing as well."

Hugo's cheeks turned a bright red. "Oh, well, I… thanks..."

It wasn't a lie. He was a pretty good looking guy: tall and lean, bordering on lanky, caramel skin, ash brown hair cut short on the back and sides while slightly longer at the top, natural curls creating tousled waves that fell onto his forehead. A small scar ran across his left eyebrow, adding an air of mystery.

Never one to shy away from invading personal space, Gen leaned forward and pointed to the scar, fingers hovering just above. "How'd you get that?"

"Oh, that? It's nothing major. I, uh, manage an animal sanctuary for rescues - mostly dogs and birds of prey - but they can get pretty irritable, especially when they first get there and everything is unfamiliar," he explained, fingers running over the scar absentmindedly. "I saved this peregrine falcon named Écho from some pretty nasty people, and she wasn't too happy about it at first - left me with this when I tried to get her out of her cage. She's warmed up to me now though."

"That sounds super cool."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Pretty noble too," Gen said sincerely, tucking her hair behind her ear so it didn't fall into her plate while moved closer. "I never had any pets as a child, so being with all those birds and dogs sounds like ten-year-old me's dream."

"Sometimes that's what it feels like," he agreed, and there it was, that blush again. "I uh, also train animals as well. That's my main thing - making sure the dogs know tricks and stunts for movies. Completely ethical methods, of course. Do you remember that movie that came out last summer - the one about the woman who got stuck in the cabin?"

"Kinda...I know that Beau was really into it," Gen scratched her head, the concept familiar. "Wasn't there some kind of rescue dog who saved the day?"

"Yeah!" Hugo smiled wide, pride shining through. "That was one of mine - a Bernese named Sofia. Total sweetheart. Kinda let the fame go to her head, but she deserves it."

"Totally, that celebrity life can be hard," Gen agreed, laughing a little. "But you've gotta be proud, being the parent of your super famous fur baby."

"So proud. It's kinda hard being away from them to be honest," Hugo admitted, shaking his head. "I wish we were allowed to bring pets to the palace. I would have brought them all."

"I'm not supposed to say anything, but word on the street is that Lucas Aubry has a cat in his room at this very moment."

Now it was Hugo's turn to be shocked. "Are you serious?"

"Completely," Gen nodded, lips quirking upward as she placed a finger to them in a 'shhh' motion. "But you didn't hear it from me."

The mood when conversation ended this time was not as stilted as it was before, but more comfortable. Maybe that was why Gen thought that it was good time to break out the bottle of bubbly that had been chilling in the basket of ice.

"Really? It's like, noon," Hugo joked, not judging her. At least not blatantly. "I thought that thing was just for show."

"This is Versailles," Gen said as she rolled her eyes and poured a glass, as if that fact alone explained everything. "There was nothing old, rich Frenchmen loved more than their booze. Besides, before the advent of modern technology and social media, drinking was all people had to do."

She extended the bottle Hugo's way, but he shook his head.

"None for me, thanks."

"You sure?"

"Totally. That stuff's the reason I'm here in the first place. Well, not champagne specifically, but alcohol."

That piqued Gen's curiosity. "You're going to have to elaborate on that one."

"The night I entered the Selection, I was stone cold drunk. Super wasted. Gone. Take your pick. It was the only way I ever would have. Not that you and your family aren't great and all, but I didn't know that then, and this...isn't really my speed," he confessed, brutally honest. Gen was shocked, but not entirely surprised. She didn't expect everyone to enter the Selection with the intention to sweep her off her feet. In fact, she was glad Hugo didn't. "But it's been fun, and the way I see it, even if I fail and you kick me to the curb, at least I've gotten some great memories and food out of it."

"That's one way to look at things," Gen said with a laugh.

"I've definitely made worse decisions drunk."

A knock on the door ceased their laughter. Gen had no idea who it was, having told the guards not to let anyone disturb her date.

Needless to say it was an unwelcome surprise to see her father strolling in. He was dressed far more casually than normal, dark jeans and a soft grey quarter zip keeping him warm, so this could not be a professional call. If anything, that irritated Gen even more. It would be one thing if the country needed her. Papa really couldn't wait to make a social call until after lunch?

"So sorry to interrupt, but can I borrow you for a second, Geneviève?"

Part of Gen was still livid at her father for exiling Beau. Part of Gen wanted to tell him to fuck off and talk to her once he got his priorities straight. But Papa never used her full name unless things were super serious. That, combined with the intense expression in his blue eyes made Gen rise to her feet without hesitation.

"Sure thing Papa," Gen replied as she turned to Hugo. "This'll only take a moment."

Hugo nodded, not bothered in the slightest.

Her father gestured for Gen to lead the way out of the dining room, taking their conversation around the corner where it would be more private.

"What is it?" Gen asked once she deemed they were far enough away. She crossed her arms over her chest, not willing to give Papa an inch until he proved that whatever he had to say was worth listening to.

"I wanted to talk to you about what happened at breakfast the other morning - "

"I do not want to talk about that. Ever."

"Gen, please," he implored, stressing his words. He rarely ever insisted on anything.

"Okay, I'm listening."

"You were right," he said, and Gen had to shake her head and rub her ears because she could not have been hearing that correctly. There was no way her father was actually apologizing to her, was he? "Things got out of hand. Your mother and I did not handle the situation appropriately, which is something we both regret."

"So you're not exiling Beau?"

"No, university very much remains real," Papa sighed, the circles under his eyes giving away his age. If Gen wasn't mistaken, there was even more grey flecked near his temples than before. "You more than anyone knows just how much Beau is floundering. He needs direction, desperately. We had just wanted to break the news in a gentler way."

Gen moved her hands to her hips, still bitter. "Well, that blew up in your face."

Papa flinched. "I am aware. Which brings me to my other issue of concern: you."

"Me?"

"Your speech in the breakfast hall was...alarming," Papa mulled over his words, looking at Gen as if seeing someone else entirely. "It wasn't your tone nor your anger, because those were justified, but your words that alarmed me. For a moment, I felt like I was eighteen years old watching my sister tell everyone off. That 'no one is more powerful than me' bit was her favorite, you know."

"I've always admired Tante Eadlyn. You know that."

"I do, and it has never caused me concern until yesterday," he stated plainly, taking a step closer, intensity in those normally easygoing eyes. "Geneviève, you may love Eadlyn, but there were so, so many who did not. She was not an easy person, and there were many people who meant to do her harm. Serious harm. And as a father, seeing you emulate her, it makes me worry."

"There's no need to worry. Everyone loves me," Gen said defensively.

"Public opinion is a fickle thing. You want a second opinion on that, ask your Uncle Kaden," Papa replied, holding Gen by the shoulders now. There was something unnervingly vulnerable in his eyes that scared Gen shitless. She never liked seeing adults, people she was used to thinking of in positions of power - especially her parents - being so helpless. "I just don't want to see anything bad happen to you. I've lost too many people I love to risk anyone else."

"Like I said, there's no need to worry," Gen insisted, reaching out to pull her father into a hug. He needed it more than she did. "I'll be better about my words. No more speeches about ultimate power or anything, I promise."

She could feel him nod, stubble scratching against the top of her head as he held her close. Whatever had just transpired seemed to appease him for now, Papa pulling away and looking much less conflicted and tired.

"I'll stop being sappy and let you get back to your date."

"Much appreciated," Gen said with a smile, reaching up on her tip toes to peck her father on both cheeks. "See you at dinner. _Je t'aime_."

" _Je t'aime plus encore._ "

With that, they parted ways.

Hugo was exactly where Gen left him, munching on cheese and crackers, watching the birds out the window.

"Sorry about Papa," Gen apologized as she reclaimed her seat, still a bit shaken from their talk. "He can be...well, him."

"No worries," Hugo assured, looking where Papa had just been. "What did he want?"

"Just to tell me that he was worried I was going down a wrong path, because of breakfast. He's been through some pretty terrible shit, so I think that anything that reminds him of that makes him nervous," Gen gave the abbreviated version, not wanting to drag down their date with the semantics of the Schreave family tragedy. Besides, it wasn't like there was anyone on the planet who didn't know what happened.

Hugo hummed thoughtfully, not disturbed in the least. "You're really lucky to have a father who cares so much."

"Too much sometimes."

"Better than one who doesn't care at all."

There was something there, something hard and bitter in the sound of his words, that made Gen realize that Hugo was not just proposing a hypothetical situation. It made her backpedal, desperate to try to take back sounding so ungrateful, even if that was not her intent.

"Hugo - "

"Nah, forget I said anything," he shrugged, brushing the conversation away with a wave of his hand. "I changed my mind. I think I'll take that drink now."

Gen just sat in silence and watched him pour.

* * *

The weather, while terrible, seemed to correlate with Gen's sudden increase in popularity.

After lunch with Hugo ended, Dante had called her to play cards with Daphne (it was one of her worse days, none of the words flying from loose lips making sense, but they still managed to have fun regardless), Ulysse had wanted her opinion on his latest masterpiece (it was still just linework, but the most elegant strokes of charcoal Gen had ever seen, and she told him as much), and Anatole whipped her up a midday snack that made making her pants a little too tight totally worth the lecture she was going to get from her dietician.

Needless to say, all the socializing tired her out. She was half way to her room, ready for a date with her bed and favorite streaming service, when yet another one of her lovely Selected intercepted her.

"Your maid said you were out. You busy?" Arlo asked, leaning against her door expectantly, laptop curled under his arm, a blanket thrown around his shoulders. He looked fresh from a nap, dark hair sticking in all kinds of directions, clad in sweats and an old tee shirt.

"Not at the moment."

"Good, then you're coming with me."

"Oh, am I?"

He arched one of those perfect eyebrows conspiratorially. "You are if you want me to change your life."

Damn, that was a good line. She had to give him points for that one.

She followed Arlo back down the hall, away from her beloved bed that Elyan had undoubtedly fluffed with the utmost care. It was only when she saw the books come into view that she realized he had taken her to the library: the place where they first met. And it looked as though the same scene had been recreated. There were blankets strewn everywhere, the fire crackling, a short stack of DVDs, and a sleeve of cookies just waiting to be eaten.

"What's all this."

"This, is when Geneviève Amelie Eadlyn, Princesse Royale and heir to throne of France, finally expands her horizons and watches The Dead Poets Society once and for all."

Gen couldn't help it. She tilted her head back and let out an absurd laugh.

"Okay, alright, if you insist."

She moved to sit in the nest of blankets, kicking off her flats to tuck her feet into the warmth. Arlo helped out and draped one over her shoulders so that she could pull it to her chest. If she were being honest, it was just as comfortable as her bed.

Arlo set the laptop up in the meantime, logging into his profile before inserting the silver disk into the drive. While they waited for the movie to load, Gen looked at some of the other options Arlo had brought, studying the titles.

"These things are ancient..." she commented. Most things were digital these days. No one bothered with the clunky gadgets from the past, their designs inefficient and inelegant compared to modern technology.

"Better picture quality. What can I say, I'm a purist."

That did not surprise her in the least. He was definitely not mainstream; it was the little quirks like these that defined his character. But those quirks did not line up with his taste in cinema.

"You strike me more as a _Le Magasin de Suicides_ , not the singing and dancing animals, type."

Arlo huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he plucked The Lion King out of her fingers and pressed the play button. "I may be emo, but I'm not _that_ emo."

"Well, at least you can admit it. Blaire will be so proud."

Another eye roll as the music started. They sat up for a minute as the titles started rolling, but then Gen decided that if she was going to be watching movies for the foreseeable future, she might as well get comfy.

"Come on," Gen sighed, burying herself down into their blanket fort, scooting over to make room for Arlo. "I don't bite. I'll even let you cuddle with me so long as you agree not to scratch me with that sandpaper you call five o'clock shadow."

Arlo remained frozen in place, his eye glued to Gen as if she just sprouted two heads. It was a strange reaction, and Gen started laughing again, if only because she did not know how else to respond.

"Jesus, calm down. What, are you afraid of cuddling?"

He jumped at the words, like he had been shocked. "Something like that..."

Gen frowned. It really hadn't been her intent to scare him off. Maybe she had crossed some kind of line she didn't know about. "If you're really not okay with it, we don't have to - "

"No. It's cuddling with you, so I don't hate it," he decided, finally moving to join her.

They didn't end up cuddling per say, but Gen did end up lying with her head on Arlo's shoulder, body half turned into his while one of his arms snaked around her shoulder, fingers absentmindedly rubbing patterns into the top her arm. It was nice, she wasn't going to lie, and it took every fiber of her being not to fall asleep. The only reason she didn't was because this movie meant something to Arlo, and if she checked out, it would hurt him for the second time.

"You lied to me."

"Hmmm?"

"There are no dead poets in this movie. Not even one."

"It's symbolic, Gen," Arlo sighed, slightly irritated as he pointed to the screen. "Here, watch this part. Robin Williams is about to stand on a desk and change these kids' lives. It's iconic."

That's when Gen noticed something she had never seen before - black ink decorating the underside of his right wrist. She reached out and took his hand in hers, flipping it over so she could get a better look.

"I didn't know you have a tattoo."

"Not very perceptive, are you?" Arlo said with a smirk, though he did not remove himself from her grip. "When we all turned eighteen, my friends and I took this big trip to the city and got them together as a way to keep each other close. Everyone got a different word in a different place, but they all go together."

Gen's fingers idly traced over five elegantly looped letters, spelling out one word: _sauvé_

"What does yours mean?"

"Literally, it means saved. But I take it to mean freedom," he explained, looking upon the tattoo with critical eyes, as if reading some kind of deeper meaning that Gen was curious to discover for herself. "I'm from Normandy, you know: rolling fields, farmhouses, more animals than people, all that jazz. I grew up on a farm, riding horses, herding sheep - way too many _Dieu_ -damned sheep - and I was cool with it. From the outside, life was quiet and peaceful and pretty damn near perfect."

Gen could not appreciate the waxed on poetics because she was still hung up on one singular fact that had rocked her perception of Arlo entirely.

"You're a country boy?"

"I know, shocker, isn't it?" he joked, lips curled into a wry smile as he made fun of himself. "So imagine me, a _country boy_ , coming to Paris for the first time. I was out of my damn mind. Everything was so loud and big and messy...and I loved it. It was liberating, in a way, and for the first time, I felt free. Being like me in a place like Normandy - small towns where everyone knows you and your grandparents since birth - it's hard. I always wanted _more_ , to be _more,_ and here, being the strange, dorky, emo kid who wrote plays and sonnets in his free time wasn't so crazy."

"You write sonnets?" Gen teased, tongue poking out between her teeth as she pressed down on her urge to laugh. Not at him, but with him. At the joy she felt that Arlo had finally found a place to belong.

"Really shitty ones," he warned, hazel eyes flashing with amusement. "That phase in my artistic career lasted shorter than the black eyeliner one, thank Dieu."

"You're not getting off that easy, Shakespeare. I want a full reading one day."

"Sorry. I'm pretty sure I burned them."

"Liar. Blaire's probably got them on an external hard drive somewhere."

"If she does, I'll murder her."

Their laughter was soft, fading naturally into silence. Gen picked at a loose thread in the blanket, thinking about how content she felt in that moment. How warm and safe and happy.

"Hey, your friends sound really cool. You should bring them around sometime."

"Yeah, maybe I will," Arlo agreed, something fond behind his expression that Gen could not place, far too deep to just be appreciation. "I think they'd like it here. Well, Cordin may need some convincing, but Madeline will drag him along, no worries."

"Can't wait," Gen replied, smiling. Hopefully, if Arlo did bring his friends along, things would work out better than the outing with Merlin's friends. "Maybe we can all go out and get matching tattoos. We could all get "O, captain, my captain" tattooed right on our asses."

It was meant to be a joke, but the laugh died in Arlo's throat.

"Gen I - "

" _Votre Altesse,_ " a butler interrupted without warning, stepping into the library and giving a perfunctory bow as he completely ignored Arlo to gain Gen's full attention. "Your mother requests your presence in her office to go over the final details for the Parisian Children's Hospital visit."

"Tell my mother to handle it on her own. I'm busy with Selection things," Gen dismissed, irked that such a nice moment had been ruined. Technically this entire visit was her idea, her brainchild to plan and execute, but Maman had the worst timing known to mankind. There was no detail that could go another few hours without being attended to.

Miffed, the butler bowed again and promptly left, polished shoes clicking against the hardwood as he went to tattle on Gen to her mother. Not that her mother should have anything to complain about. Gen was spending time with her Selected, just like Maman wanted.

When they were alone, nothing but the sounds of the end credits rolling, Gen turned to Arlo.

"Sorry, you were about to say something?"

Momentarily, Arlo looked startled. Like a deer caught in headlights. But then, the confusion faded into something impassive and finally into the typical Arlo Moreau resting bitch face. He wasn't as happy as he was earlier, more closed-off, some tension seeping back into his bones. His brow was furrowed as he clicked buttons on the laptop, removing Dead Poets Society and placing the disc back into its case.

"Nothing. Just that I think we should watch Big Hero Six next."

"Sure," Gen shrugged, not knowing that one either.

Maybe Arlo was embarrassed. Maybe the butler had just flustered him. But why? It wasn't like there was anything going on...was there?


	24. Truth, Justice, and the Parisian Way

A/N: I apologize for the obscenely long wait. This chapter took me so long to write because it was hard to write. I'm still not sure that I got things a hundred percent, but I'm hoping I did something right. The "dressing up as superheroes thing" is done frequently for Children's Hospitals, but for the story's sake it's totally self-indulgent on my part because there is nothing in this world I love more than superheroes (except chocolate) and that's a fact. Well, maybe I love you guys most. You're definitely up there :)

* * *

Truth, Justice, and the Parisian Way

On Valentine's Day, the Parisian Children's Hospital was abuzz with activity.

The institution had been transformed overnight, going from state of the art medical facility to the carnival of every child's dreams. On top of all the games and toys donated and set up by the royal family, there was popcorn and cotton candy machines, arcade games, balloon darts, and even a bouncy house. However, just around the block in a crowded alleyway, there were dozens of volunteers that needed Gen's attention, shipments of donations to coordinate, and more grown men carrying boxes full of stuffed animals than she ever thought she would see in her whole life.

"Last truck," the man carrying up the rear told her, and Gen nodded, thankful that there was an end in sight. She had been at this for three hours already. Any more toys and the hospital was going to run out of space in their storage closets. "Where do you want these?"

"Just place these last few in the lobby. The kids can break them open and start playing with them. As for the others, let the nurses up at reception lead the way," Gen instructed, pointing around the bend. From where she stood, the lobby was in plain view, glassy walls allowing Gen to see the magic unfold. Which was probably why she missed her own personal paparazzi coming her way.

"Supergirl!" came Lucas Travert's overly excited voice. Gen turned to see him wearing a blazer overtop of a S tee that matched the symbol on her own chest - an adorable Clark Kent to match her Kara Zor-El. He pushed up his glasses and waved his real camera in question. "A picture for the Daily Planet?"

"How can I say no to a fan?" Gen teased, putting both hands on her hips in the typical superhero pose, trying not to laugh too hard. The camera snapped a dozen times at least before Gen stepped away.

Lucas pouted. "Just one more?"

"No can do kind citizen, we have children to save," she reminded, pushing them both towards the main event. "But I could use an escort."

Lucas beamed and offered up his elbow which Gen gladly took. The camera swung from a strap around his neck, a heavy weight that Lucas didn't seem to mind. Instead, he tipped his head back and looked a the clouds a little dazedly, then back down to Gen, as if everything was perfect.

It was Gen's idea to go as superheroes. According to Louis, little kids were really into that kinda stuff, and Gen figured that her five year old little brother would know better about these kinds of things than she. Besides, she felt pretty bad ass in her blue spandex suit, red cape fluttering behind her as she walked into the madness. Henri was close behind, less than pleased to have all these people so close to her, brow drawn and lips pulled into a frown from his home the shadows, but Gen was touched that he was willing to stress himself out for the good of the children. He had, however, refused to don a costume, clad in his usual all-black suit, dark eyes scanning every detail of the room.

As soon as she stepped foot into the lobby, Gen broke off from Lucas and into the spotlight. More cameras flashed as kids kept running up to her, trying to get her to play games or color with them. Gen tried her best to get to everyone, but within moments she felt exhausted having to keep up with the demands of ones so young and surprisingly full of life. All of the children already seemed enamored by Merlin, who had decided to come as the Black Panther. He exuded all the grace that the hero should, staying impressively in character as kids and parents flocked to him. Lucas even let a few hold his precious camera, taking selfies with anyone who asked.

Gen was glad that this was such a joyous outing and not the somber one she was expecting. There were some serious doubts in the beginning as to whether or not this would be a good idea, but looking at the fruits of her labor, Gen was proud to have pulled it off, and even more proud off the boys who volunteered to come along.

" _Votre Altesse_ ," Henri said as he approached, nodding his head shortly. "You've been asked to say a few words to the press."

"Of course I have. A girl's job is never done," Gen sighed, ruffling the hair of the child nearest her before making her way to the front of the lobby. There was a table set up near the doors checking off names for the event. Surrounding that door was a swarm of paparazzi - held at bay by Henri and his team - making her very glad that coordinated travel made her aware of the back entrance.

"First, I would like to thank all the volunteers who gave their time to making this day incredible. I would like to thank my boys for being such good sports and dressing up with me, especially Sébastien Dubois and Anatole Boniface who have gone above and beyond in caring for these kids. And I would also like to thank you all for coming out today to support the children. I've always had a soft spot for this place. My siblings and I were blessed with good health, but as the oldest of five, it's hard for me to be here without seeing my brothers and sisters in their faces. These are some of the kindest, strongest, most incredible children I have had the pleasure to meet; they deserve the chance to keep on living, and to have a fun. Every donation given goes towards making sure the children you see here with me today live long, healthy lives. Today, we give the gift of joy as a reminder that, with a little bit of kindness, we all can save the world."

Polite applause came from the volunteers and nurses, while the press was more focused on shouting questions and taking photos. Gen didn't entertain them though, stepping away from the table and heading back inside to do more important things like actually run her event. Those vultures had their five minutes. They would have to be satisfied.

The clapping died down but two people insisted on continuing it. Following the outliers to the back of the crowd, Gen started to smirk when she saw it was two of her Selected and headed their way. Since they were doing actual clinical work, Seb and Anatole were dressed in superhero printed scrubs to stick with the theme. Anatole had a blue surgical bandanna wrapped around his long hair to keep it out of his face, a mask swung low across his chest from where he'd let it drop. Seb was a similar sight.

"Nice speech, I was touched by the shoutout," Anatole complimented, a hand to his chest. Gen wasn't quite sure if he was teasing or serious, but she assumed a mix of both. It was his MO after all.

"That was the point. How's it going over there?" Gen asked, nodding to the designated patient rooms where children could walk in and get a physical done free of charge.

"Great!" Anatole beamed, buzzing with energy. He'd been that way all day, like just being in his element gave him superpowers. "We've seen about two dozen patients so far and it's not even noon."

"We? More like Anatole," Seb said, entering the conversation as he pulled off his green latex gloves and tossed them in the trash. His superhero scrubs looked baggy on his thin frame, but he didn't seem too bothered by it. "The way you caught that ruptured appendix? You're like a real life superhero. Compared to you, I can't compete."

"Dude, don't sell yourself short! Your stitches on that busted knee - flawless," Anatole insisted, shoving him gently. Gen had come to realize that things that seemed like rough gestures were actually used as affection between males. Don't ask her why, because it was strange as hell, but Gen figured it had something to do with societal perception of masculinity.

"Look at my boys, growing up and saving the world," Gen praised, pulling them both into a hug.

Anatole nudged her back playfully while Seb just looked at his shoes and blushed.

"You should come in there with us Gen, get your hands dirty," Anatole suggested, and Gen pointedly ignored the innuendo buried there. "We've got an extra set of scrubs. May have to roll the pants up a little though."

"Nah, I think I'll pass. I'm not that brave, and there's plenty of things that need to be done up front. Besides, I don't think I'm qualified to stitch knees or fix appendixes."

He shrugged and turned towards the tent. "Suit yourself."

Gen watched him saunter away, shaking her head. He was something else.

"You're plenty brave to me Gen," Seb said with a smile which Gen returned, genuinely touched.

"Thanks Seb. You're too sweet."

Seb left with a wave, jogging after Anatole as they returned to their posts.

Just as she turned around, a small body collided with her red boots, causing Gen to jump back in shock. The tiny girl stared up at her with big blue eyes sparkling with large amounts of wonder.

"Hello, and who are you?" Gen asked as she crouched down, retrieving the girl's fallen teddy bear and brushing off the dust.

"Eva," the little girl whispered, clutching the bear to her chest so that it muffled her words. She seemed shy, but Gen knew for many kids that it was only a front they put on when faced with strangers.

"Nice to meet you Eva, I'm Supergirl."

Gen stuck out her hand, but Eva only pouted, looking suspicious.

"No, you're the princess!"

Thankful for all the years of practice she had storytelling to her siblings, Gen was able to play along quickly. "That's my day job, but at night, I secretly fight crime with the help of my friends."

Eva arched a single eyebrow, far too critical for someone her age. It was comical, more than anything. "Really?"

"Really," Gen said earnestly, unable to fight off her grin as she got the girl to open up. "But you can't tell anyone, promise?"

"I promise!"

"Is your mom anywhere?"

"She's over there," Eva gestured vaguely to the crowd, pointing out no one in particular. However, there was no screaming mother complaining of a missing child, so Gen figured that things were okay for now. "She said that I could go get my face painted while she watched, but I think she just wanted to hog the popcorn."

Gen laughed a little, standing up straight and offering her hand once more.

"It would make me so happy if I could get my face painted with you."

Eva nodded and lifted her tiny hand to grasp onto Gen's, the pair weaving through the crowd. Gen was aware of cameras flashing in the distance, but she blocked them out, concerned only with the ridiculous, nonsensical story Eva was spinning about cats and shopping malls.

Ulysse had set up his face painting station near the back corner, decorating faces as mermaids, tigers, and anything else their creative minds could imagine. He had decided to dress up as Bob Ross, the old American painter, claiming that man had saved lives one happy tree at a time. Gen didn't have the heart to say no when he showed up in the curly afro anyway. She hoped that her leniency with his outfit would allow her to cut the line. Gen had been eyeing some sweet looking purple butterflies, and she was not about to let the paint run out before she got her art.

" _Princesse,_ who do we have here?" Ulysse asked when they got to the front of the line, setting down his palate to meet his newest muse at eye level.

"This is Eva and she would like to be a - "

"- unicorn!" the overly excited girl shrieked as she jumped into the open chair, her short legs kicking with infinite energy.

"Okay, one unicorn coming up! I just need you to be very still for me."

Eva nodded rapidly, and then went rigid. Gen could see her pursing her lips, trying her hardest not to wiggle as the brush glanced across her pale skin. Within minutes, blue, purple, and pink paints blended together to make the most magical unicorn Gen had ever seen. Ulysse had even added sparkles for added effect, enjoying the way Eva's face lit up as she studied her reflection in the hand mirror.

"Alright, your turn Gen."

Eva scrambled out of the chair and gestured for Gen to take a seat, tucking her cape in behind her as she sat and crossing one ankle under the other. At least Supergirl knew how to sit like a lady, which was more than what Gen could say about herself.

"What does the princess want to be?"

"I'm actually really digging those purple butterflies."

"One kaleidoscope of butterflies it is."

It was hard to be this close to Ulysse and not stare, and it would definitely send the wrong message if she did stare at him while he worked, and mistaken sexual tension was the last thing she needed. So, Gen busied herself by people watching. She watched Eva's curious face peering over Ulysse's shoulder while he worked. She watched Henri pointedly ignore the clown who was trying to get him to pull the flower on his lapel. She watched Merlin play a game of duck duck goose with the older kids. She watched mothers hover over their babies, as if ingesting too many sweets was a worse battle to fight than the illnesses they all had.

And then, a brightly painted bald head peaked out above the rest of the crowd, intricate yellow sunflowers dazzling on a canvas of dark skin.

"Whoa, did you do that?"

"Yeah," Ulysse said with a smile, eyes never wavering from the lines he was tracing across her forehead.

"That's Nadia. She's pretty cool," Eva chimed in, already picking at the paint, her horn missing a chunk.

The girl had to be about the twins' age, though she looked physically smaller. She laughed and smiled at two other girls, pulling at a pink string of fluffy cotton candy. "What's she in for? Do you know?"

"Acute lymphoblastic leukemia, terminal," Ulysse replied, a little less happy now that he had delivered some grim news. It shocked Gen, to watch a girl so full of life laugh and know that it wasn't going to last for long. "She told me to paint her something bright, because she was tired of being surrounded by sadness."

"She's beautiful."

In a second, Eva disappeared from Ulysse's shoulders and ran off towards Nadia. The older girl beamed at the sight of her young friend, reaching down and swinging Eva up into a hug. Eva giggled like a maniac, and for a second, Gen could see nothing but two perfectly whole, happy children.

"Here we are," Ulysse said, drawing Gen's attention back to him and his stupidly pretty eyes. He held the hand mirror out for her to take, done with his creation even though Gen hadn't even felt the touch of his brush. Curious, she looked down and saw a trail of tiny purple butterflies starting from her cheekbone wrapping all the way to the center of her forehead. They were all in various stages of flight, leaving a curly trail in their wake.

"I love it," Gen said earnestly, too afraid to even brush her hair back lest she ruin it.

"Even more than the piece from the gallery?"

"Yes, even more than that," Gen said, though she knew he knew she didn't mean it. Nothing could outdo that masterpiece that now hung in the sitting room of her personal suite. "I think this is your calling."

"Face painting?" he huffed a laugh, dipping the abused brushes into murky water. "Doesn't really pay the bills."

"But it makes people happy."

Ulysse smiled but it was short lived.

"What the hell..." he muttered, attention stolen somewhere over Gen's shoulder. He was nearly a foot taller than she was, so it was easy for him to look over the crowd to see what the fuss was. It took more effort for Gen, who actually got up and walked towards the growing chaos.

However, her path was quickly intercepted by Henri, who tried to corral her away.

"What is going on?" Gen asked, still pressing forward. The source seemed to be coming from a short woman standing at the entryway, arguing with the nurses at the sign-in table.

"A Vera Philipp is trying to enter the premises. She says she is related to one of your Selected."

Gen's eyes snapped to the boy she needed.

If it were even possible, Merlin's face went ashen, all the life promptly sucked out of him. He looked like he was living his worst nightmares, the woman suddenly charging towards him at an alarming speed. Children started to shriek, running to their mothers while Merlin flinched backward from his, and Gen felt the urge to run and protect him. Which she totally would have done, had Henri not blocked her path, pushing her towards where it was safe.

"There you are!" Vera screamed after Merlin's retreating figure. "I have had enough of your antics, your lies! Smiling up on the television day after day pretending to be something you're not - you make me sick! And now, standing around these children, corrupting them! If only they knew what kind of abomination you really are!"

Merlin couldn't find the words to fight back. He looked like he was drowning. The only thing he could manage was a strangled, "Mère...please, don't - "

"You are a disgrace, Melody Royale! If your father were alive, he would be ashamed!"

That was what broke him. Merlin turned from his mother and ran further into the building, far away from all the screaming children, frightened mothers, flashing lights, and shouts for answers coming from the overly invasive press.

"Henri, let me go!" Gen hissed, finally breaking past her bodyguard who was only steps behind her. She felt Henri grabbing at her wrist, but she pushed forward. She needed to get a handle on this situation before it broke the press. There were already cameras going crazy, soaking up the scandal. Things needed to be contained, and quickly.

Gen marched up to the woman, Henri inserting himself as a buffer. Close up, the woman was strikingly pretty - dressed professionally with dark skin and tamed dark hair curled over her slim shoulders - and young to have a son Merlin's age. However, any beauty she may have possessed was countered by the cruel words that slipped from her red lips.

"Why would you do that?" Gen gaped, horrified at what she had just witnessed. "He's your son."

" _That_ is no _son_ of mine," Vera spit, looking disgusted at the very notion.

Gen had heard everything she needed to hear. She had heard enough hatred fly from this woman's lips to last ten lifetimes.

"I came to spread the truth, but you don't seem surprised, or upset," Vera said, narrowing her eyes in contempt. She tried to step forward, but Henri kept her away, his hand pressing up against Vera's sternum in warning that he could and would push back. "What kind of queer must you be to put up with that?"

Gen was filled with a cold fury. She'd had enough of Mrs. Philipp walking over her and her friends, her anger barely contained.

"Get this woman out of my sight."

Security was swift with her command, hands going to wrap around Vera Philipp's arms, pulling her away from the crowd that had formed around her. Despite her impending incarceration, Vera looked sickeningly proud, as if she had accomplished everything that she set out to do. What a despicable monster that woman must be to get pleasure out of ruining her son's life.

It was Henri that removed the red from Gen's gaze, bringing her back down to reality with two solid hands placed on her shoulders.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Shaken, but fine," Gen lied, still feeling the remnants of rage while searching the crowd for signs that others were also alright. Everyone was going back to business, though the fun and cheer were now tainted with something darker. Blessedly, children had short attention spans, so it wasn't long before there was laughter to drown out the tense silence. She also spied the boys, who appeared to be very confused just like everyone else over the age of six.

 _Damn it all,_ Gen cursed in her head. _Was it too much to ask for one nice day?_

"How'd this even happen?"

"I don't know," Henri fumed, looking loathsomely at the backs of the other guards heads as they escorted Vera Philipp into a police vehicle. "I should have done something. I should have seen her. I - "

"Henri, the only reason she was able to get through at all was because you were busy doing your job: protecting _me_ ," Gen enforced, reaching to grip her bodyguard by the biceps, which was much easier said than done seeing as though Henri was built like an ox. "You did nothing wrong."

"Still, I feel as though - "

"Nuh-uh, none of that," Gen chided, feeling more like a mother than anything. "I'm safe, that woman is gone, and the world is still turning. You need to go easier on yourself."

It was a foreign concept; Gen could tell by the lingering frown.

"We are lucky it was just one woman, and not some lunatic with a gun."

"Are we though?" Gen asked, going back to scanning the crowd, worrying her bottom lip as she searched in vain for one particular face. "Sometimes words can do more damage than bullets."

"He's down there," Henri said, gesturing past the nurse's station, into the area with patient rooms. "I watched him take the left. I doubt this wing goes on forever."

"How did you - ?"

"I know you, _Votre Altesse_ ," Henri said resolutely, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "You'll make this right. I've seen you do it before, and you're going to do it again now."

Gen threw her arms around Henri's neck, suddenly very grateful to have this grumpy bodyguard in her life. Henri, in turn, seemed shocked at the sudden display of affection, but not unwilling to return it. How far they'd come in their few months was astounding. The man she swore to hate had become the rock she depended on.

With an appreciative nod, Gen took off down the hall. The cape swished behind her as she walked quickly, checking each room as she went. There were dozens in this wing, but only one at the very end had the door shut. Jiggling the handle, Gen confirmed that it was locked. This had to be where Merlin was hiding out.

Tentatively, she knocked.

"Merlin?"

"Go away," came the voice on the other side, clearly upset.

"Merlin, it's me, Gen. I just want to talk."

"GO AWAY!"

Her stubbornness refused to let her leave Merlin alone. So, she ran back to the nurse's station and grabbed the key ring off the desk. It took a few tries, but finally one of the keys unlocked the door.

"I'm coming in."

She swung it open slowly, just in case Merlin wanted to hurl something her way to scare her off. Seeing Merlin's infuriated expression, Gen immediately threw her hands up in surrender, not wanting to start a yelling match of their own.

"I just want to talk."

"Talk? Talk about what? How my mother just publicly outed me to the whole country? How she and everyone else out there thinks I'm some _freak_? How every time something in my life starts to go right, it always gets fucked up?"

"No one thinks you're a freak,"

"That's cute," Merlin scoffed, a cruel edge to his voice. "That's a nice little fantasy world you're living in Gen."

"Can you stop being like this for one second and just talk - "

"I didn't want anyone to talk about this, ever! Damn it! I knew she was fucking crazy - Dad dying messed us all up. B-but this? This was _my_ secret to tell, not hers!" Merlin raved. He threw his helmet against the wall, plastic cracking, making Gen flinch.

Merlin was angry, and rightly so. Gen could not imagine getting outed in such a terrible, public way. It was, quite literally, her worst nightmare, and she would have done anything to go back in time and prevent that from happening. But she couldn't. She wasn't really Supergirl; she had no super powers other than her compassion and her determination to set things as right as they could be.

"I know, and it sucks, but it's done now, and you have to face it," Gen tried to soothe, reaching for Merlin. "You can't hide in here forever."

"Why aren't you freaking out?" he snapped, pushing Gen away as he continued his frantic pacing. He wouldn't even look at her, hands running across the fuzz on top of his head, blunt nails scraping at his scalp so hard that Gen was afraid he was going to draw blood.

"Why would I?"

Perhaps that was the wrong way to respond, because Merlin threw his hands in the air and started to shout.

"Because the secret's out, Gen! You can stop pretending you care about me now because you know that...that I..."

"You're trans," Gen finished for him so that Merlin wouldn't be forced to say something he wasn't ready say. "Yeah, I know. I've known for a while now."

Blue eyes snapped up to meet Gen's full of confusion, skepticism, and just the tiniest bit of hope.

"H-how?"

"When we went out to the club that night, Ileana was drunk, she didn't know what she was saying, and...she may have let it slip."

"You are _fucking kidding_ _me_ ," Merlin hissed, livid all over again.

"Yeah, you might want to think about getting some better friends," Gen sympathized, hoping that Merlin laid into the bitchy redhead as soon as he got the chance. That girl had done enough meddling in people's lives.

"You've known all this time?" Merlin asked again, seeking clarification. "You've known all this time and just, what? Slept on it? Why didn't you say something?"

"Because it doesn't matter," Gen said honestly. "Melody Royale or Merlin Royce, you're still the same person to me."

She wondered if anyone had ever told Merlin that before: that being who he was wasn't something to hide, wasn't something to be ashamed of. Not that Merlin seemed like he was purposely trying to hide away this huge part of him, but Gen knew how much that information weighed on someone. She knew how that information could change minds, turn heads, and not in the best ways. It was obvious that Merlin hadn't been brought up in a very accepting home environment; he had to be thinking about how much everyone was going to hate him, how much his life was going to change. Perhaps that was why he rushed to cling to her so tightly, latching onto someone steadfast.

This side of Merlin, the side that was vulnerable and not hidden behind layers of blasé confidence, was a side that Gen felt privileged to see. She held onto him until her shoulder went numb and her costume grew damp with tears. This wasn't about her, it was about him. She would be there, no matter how long it took. Gen was proud to say that, even if the world shut him out, she would be one person Merlin could rely on - she, Marcus, Constance, and maybe even his other friends and the boys too.

When Merlin pulled away, Gen waited patiently as he dabbed at the corners of his bloodshot eyes. His complexion was flushed; there was no denying the emotional breakdown that had just transpired.

"So...what now?"

His voice was rough and unsure, bright blue eyes looking to Gen for guidance.

"That's up to you," Gen replied softly, looking down the hall and imagining the chaos that awaited at the other end. "If you want, I can sneak you out the back, get a car that will drive you to Versailles, no questions asked."

"Versailles..." Merlin trailed off, voice wavering at the implication. "Does that mean...?"

"Listen, I'm not trying to kick you out the door, and I know that home isn't the best place for you right now - "

"I haven't lived with that woman for years," Merlin sniffed bitterly, wiping at his nose and eyes.

"Regardless, please don't feel like you're being pushed out of the palace, okay? You're welcome to spend as much time with us at Versailles as you want until you feel ready to face the world."

"You still want to keep me...?"

"Of course I want to keep you," Gen assured, rubbing Merlin's arms in a soothing manner. But there was something else there, the words behind the words that Gen knew Merlin wanted to ask and didn't know how. She didn't really know how to broach the subject either. Briefly, Gen knew that this would be the perfect time to be honest, to come out and say ' _we can't be together but_ _it's not you, it's because I'm a big fat lesbian'_. But because this was real life, Gen decided to continue toeing the line. "I mean...I'm going to be honest. All this craziness aside, I think we both know we weren't going to be anything more than friends."

"Yeah," Merlin agreed, surprisingly not as upset as Gen thought he would be. "You're wonderful, really, _très_ _magnifique_. But there just isn't that..."

"Spark? I get what you mean," Gen finished, relieved that they were on the same page. "But, I am always in the market for great friends, and friends never leave each other hanging. So, my home is your home, and anyone who has a problem with that can suck it."

Merlin spluttered out a laugh, more disbelieving than anything.

"You've done so much for me..."

"Nothing that you don't deserve."

Despite it all, there was hesitation in Merlin's gaze. He gnawed on his lower lip as he looked at the door as if it would implode.

"What if they don't accept me? What if they hate me?"

"Fuck all those close minded idiots. The people who matter will still stand by you. Your siblings, your friends. Those boys out there love you. I know they do. They're like your extended family, your brothers, and this is isn't going to change that," Gen tried to make Merlin see things as they were, all the love and support that was waiting for him, the very same things his mother had denied him all his life. "And if I happen to be wrong, I give you full rights to banish them to Switzerland for all eternity."

Another laugh, and Gen counted it as a victory.

"Switzerland would be too good for them."

Gen looped her arm through Merlin's.

"Russia then."

A shared smile, and Gen was certain that while things were rough now, everything was going to be just fine.


	25. An Illéan Holiday Part 1

A/N: And thus begins the four-part arc of the story that I like to call the Illéa chapters. All I'm going to say is that, by the end, nothing will be the same. Enjoy!

* * *

An Illéan Holiday Part One

Only two months later, and Gen was amazed at how much warmer it was in Angeles compared to Paris.

Things were already starting to bloom and it was not yet March, grass unnaturally green for a winter month, the sun warm and shining down on the royal gardens.

Gen was surprised that her mother had sanctioned such a high-volume, high-risk outing, but ever since their fight, things between them had been less than great, and Gen supposed that Maman wanted to be just as far away from Gen as Gen wanted to be away from her. How much further could she get than Illéa?

The boys seemed to feel a bit out of place; for most of them, this was their first trip out of the country. Blessedly, most of the guests and her oncle's family knew how to speak French, and many of the Selected knew English. Gen supposed that this wasn't as big of a train wreck as it could have been. She definitely wasn't thinking about the culture shock when she jumped on the royal jet. She wasn't thinking of anything other than her immense need to get away, really.

At least it wasn't a random trip; no, she had a valid reason to be there. Her favorite and only male cousin was turning fifteen, and Gen wouldn't miss this for the world.

"How do people stand it over here?" Arlo grumbled, pulling at his tie. "It's so damn hot."

"I'm not the one who decided to wear all black," Gen chided, sneaking a cake pop off of one of the circulating trays.

Arlo glared and stalked off, probably to find some shade. That was fine. Gen didn't mind basking in the sun a bit, because unlike her morbid Selected, she had opted to go for a golden lace dress that cut off at her knees, and while there were sleeves, they were sheer and breathable. A lot of the boys had gone for lighter outfits - button downs and slacks for the most part. While there would be a huge ball to celebrate later, the garden party was a more casual affair. Not saying that Anatole was allowed to wear his scrubs, or Ulysse his paint-stained jeans, but there were no black ties nor waist coats in sight.

Gen leaned back, taking in the guests. A lot of the faces were vaguely familiar, but none familiar enough to strike up meaningful conversation with. Josie Reinhardt stood beside her husband Mathis, the current Governor of Allens, as they conversed with a short bubbly woman who Gen knew through her years of working for the crown on some nonprofit foundation. The Reinhardts had a son around Elodie's age, but he was nowhere to be seen. There was a New Asian delegation conversing with Prime Minister Brice near the rose trellis, but Empress Han Eunmi nor her daughter were anywhere to be seen. And then there was the matter of the Russians -

"Gen!"

Lucas Travert came running up to her table, his blond hair tousled and forehead slightly shiny with sweat. And in his hand was a bouquet of mix-matched flowers, clearly picked right out of the ground and the bushes.

"These are for you," he said, extending his slightly dirty hands so that she could take the makeshift arrangement.

"Thank you," Gen said obligingly, though she felt badly for whatever gardener was going to find the pockets of missing blooms in the landscape. "Always with the flowers Lucas. You're making a habit of this."

He smiled widely and gestured to the person who had quietly come up behind him. "It was Seb's idea."

Gen turned to the boy in question. "Is that true?"

Seb looked down at his shoes speckled with soil and blushed. He nodded.

"That's very sweet of you both. Why don't you go find something for me to put these in."

The two were more than happy to comply, leaving Gen just as quickly as they came, rushing off with childlike enthusiasm. It was endearing, and a little bit disheartening. After all this time, these boys still wanted to give her flowers. She had not been doing a good job of sending off platonic vibes. Except for Seb, but he was more than likely just being nice. He was too nice sometimes, like excruciatingly nice, and Gen didn't have the heart to tell him to stop.

"Flowers," Anatole commented as he took the seat adjacent to Gen, pushing his sunglasses atop of his unruly mess of brunet curls. "Who do I have to beat?"

Gen huffed out a laugh as she fingered the petals, admiring how soft they were. "I should have expected that from someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"Broody, defiant, someone who has competition running through their veins."

"Lucas and Seb? They're not competition," Anatole said definitively, leaning as far back in his chair as it would allow.

"What makes you think that?" Gen asked a little hotly, feeling defensive of her sweet boys. "They've got plenty of things going for them."

"Sure they do, that's why I like them," Anatole agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "But those boys are so deep in the friendzone, it's painful to see them try. Honestly, sometimes I think it would be easier to watch you kick a puppy."

Gen frowned, trying not to let that get to her. She didn't want to dwell on any kind of negatives while she was here. She had come to Illéa specifically so she could escape the bullshit. Besides, Anatole was probably only saying those things to get under her skin; it was what he did best, nothing more.

Finally, the guest of honor showed his awkwardly pubescent face, flanked by all his little sisters and prim older one. The little ones broke free from the ranks as soon as their bare fit hit the green grass, erupting in a flurry of giggles and shrieks. Gen wished she got that excited being outdoors; all she usually got was annoyed at how easily she burned and all the mosquitos.

As soon as Kase spotted Gen, he made a bee-line her way, Elodie and their parents hot on his heels. Gen rose to meet them half way across the green.

"No way!" Kase exclaimed in disbelief, crashing into Gen's chest. "You actually made it!"

"Of course I did," Gen laughed, glad to deliver such a surprise. "I wouldn't have missed it."

"Yeah, you've only missed the other fourteen," he scoffed, but there was no heat. Distance and time made it hard for them to connect, often resorting to annual visits if they were lucky. This was probably the first birthday Gen had managed to make it to in the past decade. She was unsure if any of her cousins had even attended one of hers...that they could remember. Most of her birthdays, especially recently, were covered in a blissful alcoholic daze. Or full of surprise Selections.

"I can jump back on the plane if you want, presents and all."

"Oh, hey now, let's not be hasty," Kase was quick to amend, and everyone laughed.

"It's wonderful to see you Gen," Tante Finnley reached down and pulled her into a warm hug. Gen almost teared up. How was it that, ten seconds in, this woman felt more like her mother than Maman?

"Thank you for letting me crash the party."

"Crashing? Nothing of the sort," Oncle Kaden waved it off, pulling Gen into a hug of his own. "You're always welcome here and you know it."

Over Gen's shoulder, his eyes darted to where Heather stood a few feet behind, wrapped up in a casual outfit: a long sleeved anarkali suit with breezy white cotton embroidered with blue flowers, a navy scarf draped over her shoulder. Beside her, Neelam looked far more formal than the event called for, wearing a one-shouldered peach gown with bronze floral detail across the bust, and an elaborate pearl hairpiece fastened in the back of her bun. Gen would have been busy analyzing why her oncle was once again fascinated with her Selection coordinator, but she was too busy focusing on Neelam, who was sweeping forward to steal the stage.

"Happy Birthday, Your Highness."

Neelam dipped into a perfect curtsy, a little deeper than expected, but gracefully executed. Strange enough, Kase seemed...enchanted, which was just weird because Neelam had just been there for New Years and they had barely spoken two words to one another. But now, it was like he was captivated by her. Gen wanted to wave her hand in front of his face just to see if he would still stare.

"H-hi," Kase stammered, just as confused as Gen was. "Do you like the party?"

"I don't know. I just got here," Neelam shrugged, looking around lazily. She tugged at the saddle bag she had on her shoulder, bursting at the seams full of god knows what. Probably her headphones, polaroid camera, and a thousand books - all things that had no place at a formal event.

"Neelam, don't be rude," Heather chided, slapping her daughter lightly on the arm.

Neelam frowned and rubbed the spot, but turned back to Kase with new purpose.

"You know, these gardens have _amazing_ aesthetics. Last time I was here, it was too cold to look around. Take me on a tour?" Neelam told more than asked, extending her elbow for Kase to take. He did without hesitation, the two darting off inside, as if forgetting that this was his party, and that the birthday boy abandoning his guests was more than a little rude.

Gen noticed that Heather and Kaden were giving each other strange, amused glances. Whatever was going on, they seemed to approve. Gen, on the other hand, was annoyed and she didn't know why it bothered her so much that the daughter of the biggest thorn in her side and her cousin were running off together.

Elodie let out a sigh, gently rolling her eyes at the spectacle. "Boys."

"That's okay. You, Tante Finnley, and I can have our own party," Gen said, trying to pep herself back up. However, one look at her tante, navy blue gown hiked up to chase after her unruly daughters, made Gen pause and reconsider. "Or...maybe just us."

Elodie laughed into her hand, shaking her head. "I don't know why she tries. They're impossible to rein in once they're cut loose."

Gen was about to suggest they go back to her table, maybe Elodie could even meet the boys, when her party of two became a party of one. The Reinhardt boy had snuck up on Elodie, and she was far too caught up in him to remember Gen was standing nearby. But that was fine. There would be plenty of time to catch up later.

Gen walked around for a bit before settling on a table where her oncle and Heather had established themselves. Just like before, Gen felt like she was intruding on something intimate and private. Heather's chair was angled towards Oncle Kaden's, and her oncle in return was leaning forward so that he was completely engrossed in whatever story Heather was telling. There were smiles and soft laughs, and Gen felt something angry flicker in her stomach when she thought about Tante Finnley chasing after an overly-excited Delia in the grass not twenty feet away. They had even been wearing matching outfits for Christ's sake!

"Mind if I join?" Gen asked abruptly, placing her drink down against the glass table top with a loud clink. She knew that she made it seem like there was no invitation, that she was going to sit no matter what they said. Neither one seemed to mind though, and they leaned away from each other in order to include Gen.

" _Pas de problème_ ," Oncle Kaden acquiesced, smiling fondly at Gen. "So, how is my oldest niece? _Ça va?_ "

" _Ça va_ ," Gen shrugged, much more interested in whatever was going down between the two of them. "What were you all talking about?"

"Just reminiscing," Heather replied, a spark in those blue eyes that was normally absent in the halls of Versailles. "Do you remember when these types of things used to scare you? I think you had at least two breakdowns about the guest list for the Halloween Ball."

"They still do. What can I say, I'm a perfectionist?"

"At least you don't take it out on your cufflinks anymore," Heather mused, gaze sliding over to Gen. "His poor suits - he used to wear holes in them from all his fidgeting."

"Hey now," Oncle Kaden warned with little heat to his gaze. It was like he was unable to look at Heather with anything other than affection.

"Like you deal with stress any better, mother," Neelam called Heather out as she slipped into the conversation, Kase nowhere to be seen. She did, however, look a little ruffled, her hairpiece knocked askew, and Gen had a very good guess about what they were doing on that short-lived 'tour' of the gardens. Still, she kept her composure cool, not drawing any sort of attention to her appearance, instead giving Heather some impressive side eye. "A few weeks ago I heard you threaten to stab someone in the neck."

"I'm pretty sure that was me," Oncle Kaden replied as he thought back on the event with a face far more serene than expected considering his life was in jeopardy.

"It was," Heather confirmed, stabbing at her fruit bowl as if this were a natural occurrence. In fact, everyone was acting like this wasn't a big deal, and Gen was slightly scared.

As if on cue, Neelam pulled out a psychology textbook - _where the hell_ did she even manage to keep a psychology textbook! - rifling through the pages until she found the passage she wanted. "Psychopathic tendencies include: violent threats."

"That's nice dear," Heather sighed, not really paying attention.

"You should get checked out, Mom, since it runs in your family."

Gen choked on her water, a little bit dribbling out of the corner of her mouth as she tried to pull herself together. Her reaction wasn't as bad as her oncle who was using his hands to cover where tea had leaked out of his nose, his face bright red.

Heather looked a mix between shocked and murderous. Neelam slammed her book shut, quickly running from the table before Heather could reach over and beat the living daylight out of her. The older woman stood and paced after her daughter. Gen could only imagine the kind of hell Neelam was about to receive, and she hoped the quip was worth it.

"I'll uh, be right back," Oncle Kaden excused himself as well. Gen saw the blooming tea stain on his crisp white button down, and figured he was going to change his shirt before Tante Finnley saw and had a fit.

That just left Gen, all alone at a table meant for six. That was just fine with her. Alone time was scarce to stumble upon, and it was only a matter of moments before she was whisked into some new drama.

Barely a sigh and a sip of tea before that new drama came waltzing on by.

"What oh what is going on over here?"

Gen turned around to see Queen Allegra sauntering towards the table, or more precisely, saw her large black and white hat. The thing was enormous, engulfing the monarch's entire head, but Gen supposed that was the fashion in the British Empire, and had been since the beginning of time. Queen Allegra smoothed out her pink dress before settling in the chair next to Gen, looking at her curiously.

"I saw Kaden leave. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, fine. He just - uh - snorted some tea onto his shirt."

"Snorted? How awkward! Some things never change," Queen Allegra sighed, sipping from her own glass with grace. "So, how are you? I hear you're in the market for a man these days."

"You heard right," Gen replied, trying to sound enthusiastic about it but failing. "I brought some of them with me, the ones that matter."

Very recently, Gen had come to the realization that, while she still had about twenty-ish suitors, she had only really been hanging around the same ten. She couldn't tell what any of the others even looked like, but she knew that Lucas Aubry only played piano at night because he was too shy to play otherwise, and that Hugo was the most talkative guy in the world once he stopped trying to be defensive with those one-word replies, and that Ulysse preferred to sit facing the sun when he worked and had even rearranged all the furniture in his room so he could optimize the daylight. When Gen got back to Paris, she would have to do a mass elimination. It wasn't fair to keep those other guys around when even they knew they were being ignored.

"So I see," Queen Allegra mused, looking out into the small crowd, picking out the boys that clearly were not used to these kinds of events. "Quite a good looking bunch, especially that one over there."

Gen followed Queen Allegra's gaze to Dante. Of course it would be Dante. He was the one everyone seemed to lust over. They branded him as some kind of sex symbol, and it made Gen laugh. If only they knew how hard he would blush and stammer if he were to read what they wrote about him in the tabloids.

"Dante's a good one," Gen agreed with a smile. "He's really good with Grandmère. I think she likes him."

"Cougar alert!"

"Gross! It's not like that," Gen laughed, knowing Queen Allegra was teasing. "Please don't tell me you're into him too."

"Of course not darling! I only look; I don't buy," the older royal tutted as she waved her glass of tea with pinky out and everything. "I tried the marriage thing once. It didn't work out."

"What happened?"

"He cheated on me with my maid."

The queen's reply was so honestly abrupt and out of the blue, that the only thing Gen could think to reply with was, "oh."

"All three of them," Allegra amended, and Gen choked on her tea, spluttering as the older woman looked at her expectantly. "Would you like to know how I found out?"

Gen was scared as she nodded.

"I overheard them bickering at each other when I was in the loo. They thought the water was running, and while I was supposedly drawing the bath, they were arguing over which one gave the best head," she scoffed, rolling her eyes as if the whole thing was some kind of juvenile drama. "When I came out I told them that if they didn't leave my country immediately then I'd have theirs. I'd never seen the lazy cows move so fast. And that, my dear, is the reason why you should always employ an ugly staff. Boys…they'll stick their dicks in anything. Can't trust any of them, not a single one."

"Not even me?" Oncle Kaden asked, coming in on the tail end of the conversation, fresh white dress shirt under his navy jacket.

"You're the only exception darling," Queen Allegra cooed, her spirits brightened immediately at the sight of her oldest and dearest friend. That was, until she got a good look at him. "What the bloody hell died and landed on your face?"

"Not you too," Oncle Kaden grumbled, stroking his beard conscientiously. He grew one out every winter, and it made him look more like a lumberjack than a king. "Finn has already threatened divorce three times in the past month because of it. I think it's a new record."

"I don't blame the poor girl. I wouldn't want to look at it either."

"I think you look quite handsome," Gen soothed her fretting oncle, placing a comforting hand on top of his.

"At least I can count on France to be a true, supportive ally," Oncle Kaden said with a playful smile pointed Queen Allegra's way. The woman merely snorted and rolled her eyes.

"We are _not_ starting a war over your facial hair, Kaden," she huffed before turning to Gen and muttering, "traitor."

"Aunt Allegra!"

Elodie came over and wrapped the queen in a tight hug that the monarch eagerly reciprocated.

"Hello hello!" the older woman cooed, pushing back some of Elodie's curls. "Look at you, such a gorgeous young woman. I would envy you if I were younger."

Elodie blushed and sat down next to Allegra, across from Gen. She seemed to have brought the cavalry with her, because all of the Schreave children were now headed towards the table, Tante Finnley taking up the rear with Gabbi propped up in her arms. Oncle Kaden looked fondly up at his wife, giving her a kiss when she approached the table (though he was right - she did cringe as his scruff touched her pink cheek). They were so soft, so cute together, that Gen almost found herself believing in love.

"Oh! That reminds me! Now that you're all here..."

Allegra trailed off, clapping her hands for her valet. A minute later, a man brought armfuls of presents to the British monarch, who started doling them out.

"Elodie, dear, this one is for you," Allegra said, passing over a small black box wrapped with pearly while ribbon. "And this one is for Cordelia."

Little hands reached up to grab a polkadot bag stuffed with tissue, and Hayden and Auden were next to grab their gifts, pulling at the binds despite their mother's instructions to wait. Kase was nowhere to be seen, still lost in the gardens probably, but the large yellow box topped with neon streamers had to be his present.

"What about me?" Gabbi asked, pouting her lips and blinking up those wide doe eyes. Allegra was rendered powerless to them as she knelt down to the girl's level.

"For you, my precious little tart, I think you should go to the stables."

Gabbi's eyes immediately went wide, her body buzzing with excitement as she pulled at Tante Finnley's gown, encouraging her to start moving in that direction.

"Allegra..." Tante Finnley trailed off, looking overwhelmed. "This is too much."

"You can thank me later darling," Allegra said with a wink, standing up and pushing the mother-daughter duo towards the stables.

"Al, you did _not_ get my daughter a pony," Oncle Kaden deadpanned, looking sternly at Queen Allegra.

"Of course not," she said in a blasé manner. "I got her two!"

"Oh my god…" Kaden sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Gen wondered if he was thinking about the pony Gabbi had just gotten for Christmas. They were going to need a bigger stable.

"What's the point of being a godmother if I can't spoil my godchildren?"

"You do know this is _Kase's_ birthday, right?"

"I got him something too, not to worry. I just didn't think he'd be as interested in ponies."

"Whatever it is, it better not be living."

Allegra merely rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to her godchildren as they opened their presents. And while everyone was oohing and ahhing over the extravagant display of gifts, Gen nearly missed the entrance of someone very important.

There, at the top of the stairs, was Samara Abdul.

The Saudi Princess looked like she had stepped out of a storybook. That, or she had stepped right out of Gen's darkest dreams strictly to torture her.

"Oncle Kaden..." Gen trailed off, her heart jackhammering in her chest as the princess descended the stone steps. She was so close, and getting even closer. "Did you invite Samara?"

" _Oui._ "

" _Pourquoi?_ " she asked, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. That must have been the wrong thing to say, because Oncle Kaden arched an eyebrow, looking confused. Before he could ask what was wrong, Gen jumped in with, "I just mean, I didn't think that she and Kase were that close."

"They're not, but when you told me you were coming, I thought it would be nice if I invited one of your friends."

Gen could not even muster a response. Her gaze was focused ahead on the beauty draped in lilac and rose colored fabrics, blending into the floral setting as if she belonged there. After the shit show that was New Years, Gen thought that she was over Samara, that those brown eyes and bronze skin no longer affected her, that that laugh no longer sent a flurry of butterflies off in her stomach.

She was wrong. She wasn't over Samara.

 _Fuck._


	26. An Illéan Holiday Part 2

A/N: Yeah...I'm just gonna apologize in advance for how this chapter ends. Thank you for all your continued readership and support! It does get tough sometimes thinking that no one is reading, but your comments really make my day and give me the motivation to keep writing :) I love you all!

Also, HAPPY PRIDE MONTH! I'm so proud of our lesbian princess and her colorful collection of friends, as well as this group of unique readers/creators. I've strived to write a story that is inclusive of a wide spectrum of people, and I hope that I've achieved that in a fun, believable way. The world is not black and white, it is a rainbow that deserves to be celebrated in all platforms of media :)

* * *

An Illéan Holiday Part Two

Illéans sure knew how to throw parties.

Of course, they weren't as good as Parisians, and it wasn't as big as the New Years celebration, but Oncle Kaden and Tante Finnley made the best of what they had. The room was full of the usual diplomats and fellow royals, but there was also a sizable collection of commoners. Kase had insisted upon going to school instead of being tutored like the rest of his siblings, and her oncle had been surprisingly supportive of the decision. All of his private school friends moved in a large pack around the ballroom, staring and gawking at things and people, and generally being annoying teenage boys. Gen had one come up and ask for her number, to which she only batted her eyes and pretended not to speak English. Embarrassment was a wonderful deterrent.

Now, Gen leaned up against the railing of the mezzanine. It wasn't a mezzanine per say - more like a hallway that served as a balcony, leading to the side staircase. The only people up there were she and Henri - the latter far too absorbed in studying faces to engage in small talk. However, it did provide a great view of the party down below. She could see all her friends and family. Her Selected were just starting to file in, a few familiar heads poking out in a sea of evening wear. Her oncle and tante were matching yet again, this time in forest green; Tante Finnley's dress had a gauzy cape attached to it so that it trailed behind her, and so she was easy to spot when everyone was dodging out of her way. Heather was with them, dressed in conservative fire engine red gown that hugged at visible curves; looking like that, it was no surprise that she was turning heads.

Speaking of turning heads...

"Hey stranger," Gen greeted with a smile, genuinely glad to see the boy walking her way.

"You look beautiful," Dante said, a bit breathless, before his eyes went wide and he started to backpedal. "Not that you don't always look beautiful, I mean, you could wear a garbage bag and I would still think - "

"You're not so bad yourself," Gen interrupted with a laugh before he got too lost in himself. She didn't need his affirmation to know she looked good; the navy velvet gown flattered her figure, and the delicate crystal chain drapery around her neck was sure to make her stand out. Still, she appreciated the praise, and took a step closer. "Here, your tie is crooked."

She reached up, careful not to accidentally brush the stubbly skin of Dante's throat as she pulled the knot of the tie front and center. She wasn't lying before; Dante looked fantastic in a suit, no matter how plain and black. It was then she realized how close they were and how intimate their position was.

"Hello hello, Geneviève, darling - !" Allegra cried as she scampered over to Gen's side, pulling her into a tight hug. Then, she turned to Dante, and stuck out her hand. " - handsome man I have never met."

"Dante, Dante Sial, ma'am," he introduced himself, stammering as he was caught off guard. He still managed to take her hand, giving a firm shake. It was such a strange greeting for such a refined person, but Allegra had opted to not wear any kind of sash or crown to distinguish her, and her black lace gown, though stunning, did nothing to indicate her status.

"Please, none of this ma'am nonsense! Makes me feel ancient. Call me Allegra, I insist."

Gen fought the urge to slap Allegra for making this poor boy even more awkward. Gen knew Dante thought that Allegra was a normal person. He was going to die when he found out he was being so informal to a royal. Not that it was a big deal; it wasn't. It was just how Dante was.

"Have either of you seen Maxi? I can't find him anywhere," Allegra lamented, pouting as she stood on her tiptoes. Gen had no idea who 'Maxi' was, but Allegra was notorious for going through boyfriends like she did ballgowns. "I swear, if he's caught up by security I'm going to throttle them. Kaden's hired imbeciles - I nearly had to fight my way in here because they thought I wasn't on the list."

"What happened to looking, not buying?" Gen teased, throwing Allegra's own words back at her. The older woman merely scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Yes, darling, but sometimes I really miss sex. You'll understand when you start having it."

"I've...had sex before...but thanks..." Gen said awkwardly. Dante's face was beet red, and he was shifting from foot to foot, looking pointedly away from them.

"Really?" Allegra fixed Gen with a curious gaze, before something dawned on her. "Ah, yes, I remember. You and Nicoletta's boy used to have something."

Now it was Gen's turn to roll her eyes. You hook up with a guy once at a Peace Summit and suddenly you're fucking. Gen shouldn't have been surprised; that was how gossip worked, after all. But Giovanni wasn't who Gen was referring to, though she did owe it to the Italian prince for cementing her position as a lesbian. If she didn't know before that hook up, she sure as hell knew after.

"Nicoletta's boy?" Dante asked, totally lost. Gen didn't really have the heart to explain that exceptionally drunk night, but thankfully Allegra beat her to the punch.

"I like him. He's so cute when he's flustered. Definitely a keeper," Allegra praised, reaching up to pinch one of Dante's cheeks. Then, her attention was stolen by a blond stranger a few feet away. "Ah! There's Maxi! Got to dash - see you both later!"

She left them both in her glamorous dust, Gen halfway amused and Dante extremely perplexed.

"That was Allegra, Queen of the British Empire, and my oncle's oldest friend. She's like the weird wine tante."

"Queen?" Dante squeaked, his voice going up an octave which, in any other situation would have been comical for a grown mountain of a man, but not so funny now when he was going pale white with fear. "That...that woman is a queen?"

Gen knew he was going to have this reaction, and still, she was scared when he started to go pale.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah...I'm fine...I just need to sit down," he stammered spinning around to search for the nearest exit. He swiveled and pointed in no apparent direction. "I'm just gonna - "

"O-okay..."

Gen watched Dante stumble down the stairs, holding her breath in case he fell. But he didn't, weaving his way through the crowd, probably to claim a table, or maybe to distract himself by talking to someone who was a little less... _much_. A few of the Selected had arrived, Lucas Travert and Ulysse the easiest to pick out. She hoped they were having fun; Gen wasn't sure if she was.

She turned her focus back to the hall, and another boy caught her eye, but for an entirely different reason. No, this boy was alarming, causing her to go into panic mode.

"Jesus Christ, what happened to you?" Gen demanded, running up and intercepting Kase before he could make a fool of himself. She stared in shock and mild horror at the lipstick stains all over her cousin's face and neck, knowing exactly who put them there. There was only one person it could be, the one who had yet to leave his side since she got to Illéa.

"I think I'm in love," Kase said dazedly, pulling a hand through his rumpled hair.

"No, what you are is in deep shit if your parents see you looking like this," Gen corrected, trying in vain to soothe Kase's appearance, but no matter how hard she tried, his cheeks would rid themselves of their red flush and the lipstick remained ingrained in the white fabric of his shirt. He was a hot mess; there was no way he could face the world in this state. "You need to go change."

"But...the party..."

"Can wait," Gen insisted, pushing her cousin back down the hall despite his protests. She didn't give a damn if he wanted to go brag about this to his little friends; he had to uphold whatever decency remained. Honestly, she was acting like a hypocrite. How many times had she publicly embarrassed herself? Countless. But this was different. This was Kase and Neelam. At least, that's what she kept telling herself as she continued pushing Kase. "And for the love of _Dieu_ , pick something that covers up those hickeys!"

Kase waved in acknowledgment, stumbling like he was drunk. He probably was drunk - on endorphins and sexual tension. But just thinking that made Gen feel queasy, and surprisingly not because it was her favorite cousin being defiled, but because of the girl he was being defiled by.

Gen didn't have time to think on that much longer, because Elodie was coming into view. She passed by Kase, who gave her a lopsided smile, before he disappeared around the corner. Elodie only gave him a skeptical look, turning to Gen for answers.

"Why does my brother look like a cougar attacked him?"

"Because a cougar did attack him," Gen replied bitterly, thinking of the two year age gap between Kase and Neelam. "Apparently Neelam Subramani is very _affectionate_."

"You seem upset about it," Elodie noted, shrugging her shoulders as if she wasn't just traumatized by the sight of her younger brother covered in lipstick. And those were just the spots that they could see. "They're just acting like normal teenagers. "

" _You're_ a teenager."

"Not really. It's different for us. We're heirs," Elodie said wryly, her smile cynical. "This year I'll be seventeen going on forty."

"Well, that does explain your dress."

"What's wrong with my dress?" Elodie huffed, pulling at the puffy creation of tulle. It was a statement to say the least - sheer red fabric draped and pulled in multiple layers, held together by large fabric flowers gathered at her waist and neck. It was avant garde and a little too old for such a young girl, and perhaps a little to risqué, but Elodie managed to make it work.

"Nothing, it's just...not you," Gen shrugged, but smiled nonetheless so that Elodie wouldn't start feeling badly. "Looking to impress someone?"

"Is it wrong if I say everyone?" Elodie replied, scanning the ballroom while she wrung her hands. "I know it's Kase's night, but I can't help but feel like - "

" - everyone's eyes are on you?" Gen finished, and Elodie nodded, finding solace in Gen's support. "I get that."

"Plus, there is this boy..."

"I knew it! The Reinhardt boy?"

Elodie's cheeks flushed and she looked at her feet. "I doubt anything is going to happen. He's like, my closest friend. And our parents are best friends, and our grandparents were best friends. It's like, a long line of strong friendships. Nothing has ever rocked that boat."

"You don't have to rock a boat; you just have to rock his world."

"Shut up," Elodie shoved at Gen playfully, unable to stop her laughter, which died as abruptly as it started. "Oh God, there he is..."

"Go get 'em, tiger," Gen encouraged, waving the younger girl off towards love. " _Bonne chance!_ "

Once Elodie quite literally skipped off to meet her...whatever Jordan Reinhardt was...Gen decided, was time to join the party. She'd done enough hiding, even if that wasn't her intent. It was doubtful anyone had missed her; she was not the star of this show. Blending back into the crowd was easy enough, as was finding alcohol. A tray of champagne passed by within moments of her heels hitting the ballroom floor, and she gratefully took a flute. Sipping slowly - this was a birthday party for a minor, after all - she made a circle around the ballroom, looking for someone to entertain her.

Entertainment came in the form of her tante and oncle. They were chatting with Heather, just as Gen had seen them before, but this time Neelam was with them. Unlike Kase, she looked completely put together. Neelam looked like some kind of Grecian-Indian goddess, her dress a silvery blue and draped effortlessly over one shoulder, making a diagonal line so that the opposite side of the gown had a flowing train. She still wore her collection of bangles and headdress, and her hair was pulled up meticulously, not a stray out of place. And of course, the same shade of berry on Kase's dress shirt on her lips.

No wonder Kase was smitten. Neelam was gorgeous.

Gen tried not to let her frown show, hiding it in another sip of champagne as she sidled up to the group.

"Ah, _ma chérie_ ," Oncle Kaden greeted with a large smile, the rest of them scooting over to let her into conversation. "I was wondering when you would show up."

"Sorry, I just ran into Kase on the stairs."

"Oh? What's up with him?" Neelam asked, having the audacity to play dumb.

Gen couldn't keep from glaring this time. "Like you don't know."

Neelam looked bewildered but did not respond. In fact, she looked down right antsy - distracted even. Her brown eyes kept gazing towards the door. Looking for Kase, maybe? Was she really that attached already?

 _Get your shit together_ , she berated herself, taking another drink, hoping it would help her lighten up. _What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?_

"Well, I hope he shows up soon," Tante Finnley said, smoothing things over as she was so good at doing. "We have a surprise for him."

"More ponies?" Gen guessed, finding her oncle's scowl hilarious.

"Ha ha, you're so funny," Oncle Kaden replied dryly, the corner of his lips pulling up into a smile. "I'm still going to get Allegra back for that."

"Be the bigger person, love," Tante Finnley said gently, looping her arm around Kaden's. "Besides, she doesn't have any children for us to retaliate."

"No, but her lover does," Heather pointed out, nodding subtly to where the British Queen was standing hand in hand with the blond man Gen had seen earlier. "Maximillian DuChamp has a daughter. You could always use her."

"Yes, but who knows how long that will last," Oncle Kaden returned, to which Heather only shrugged.

"Maximillian DuChamp..." Gen said, the name terribly familiar, like she'd read it in the paper. "Isn't he some kind of billionaire? And a Frenchman?"

"The very same," Heather hummed, still staring at the couple. If Gen didn't know any better, she would think that Heather was studying them. "I will give her this - she has great taste."

Suddenly, Heather dropped her champagne, the glass shattering into tiny crystals at her feet, splashing the sticky drink onto her skirt, but she couldn't be bothered to care. Her gaze was focused on the man approaching the group - the one who looked remarkably like her overeager teenage daughter who was practically bursting with anticipation by her side.

"Siddhartha..."

 _Ah, so this was the ex,_ Gen thought, now very curious as to how things would unfold. He certainly looked like Neelam, or more appropriately, Neelam took more after him, with those dark expressive eyes and easygoing smile. He had aged well, fine lines around his mouth and hints of grey at his temples, and was dressed meticulously well in a mix of traditional and modern wear.

The rest of the group had no idea how to receive this new guest. Everyone was silent, watching with bated breath.

"Heather," he replied warmly. He soaked her in from head to toe, as if he had seen nothing more incredible, something soft and wistful in his gaze. "You look beautiful, as always."

"I...I..." Heather stammered, at a loss for words. She looked alarmed, her hands trembling though she was hiding them in the fabric of her skirt. She looked like she wanted to bolt but was frozen, forced into the spotlight. "I was not aware you were coming."

Siddhartha's face fell, now tainted with confusion.

"Really? Neelam said..." Recognition flashed across his face, followed directly by resignation. He sighed and sadness crept into those brown irises. "Ah... I understand now."

The atmosphere turned tense, and Gen wanted nothing more than to hide, perhaps more than Heather did.

"Excuse me, I have to - " Heather cut herself off, unable to keep herself there any longer. She bolted from the group, not caring who she cut off or how rude she was being.

Oncle Kaden was quick to follow, excusing himself to chase after his friend. Gen's eyes narrowed as she watched him go. Yes, she felt bad for Heather, but did her oncle really have to be the one to chase her down? Maybe Heather just wanted to be alone. Maybe this anger was totally irrational and _damn,_ Gen really needed to get a hold of herself.

Neelam remained silent, swallowing down the lump in her throat as she nodded. Her eyes were glassed over and heartbroken, like someone had stomped on all her dreams. And Siddhartha...he just looked tired, something final and dead in the way he was willing to just walk away. It was like he'd had all the fire snuffed out from losing this particular battle one too many times. Gen had to look away. Had to walk away. This was a private moment that she had no right to intrude upon. Her heart was breaking for Neelam, but she had no place to intervene.

Gen downed the rest of her glass - all the while wishing it was something stronger - and grabbed another from a passing servant, weaving through the ballroom. Her stomach was churning and she held no more want to party, all the fun sucked out of the night. She just wanted to curl up in bed with her streaming app and binge watch television until her mind rotted out of her skull.

Since the universe was a bitch, that was not in the cards.

"Geneviève, hello!" Samara greeted in the most syrupy tone Gen had ever heard.

Usually Gen loved hearing her full name in that enchanting accent, but now it made her stomach turn. It was too forced, too enthusiastic for Gen's current mood. Still, she pulled on a smile and tried not to freak out when Samara pulled her into a tight hug. It was awkward given the height difference, but she still smelled the same and Gen fought the urge to bury her nose in the other girl's hijab. Besides being hella gay, it would probably ruin the silk. It must've been custom to match her modest gown - dusty rose with floral embroidery.

"How have you been! We part for a few months and suddenly you've got yourself a harem!" Samara teased, pulling away and swatting playfully at Gen's arm. "You must tell me everything. I am dying to know!"

"Know what?" Gen asked, confused.

"Come now, don't play dumb. It doesn't suit your pretty blonde head," she laughed, going as far as to actually boop Gen on the nose. She used that same finger to then tisk Gen, as if shaming her. "Fine, if you won't tell me, then at least introduce me to them. I've actually been dying to meet that one - the one with the dreamy blue eyes."

Gen was bewildered, unable to form words at the ridiculous request, and the even more audacious, ridiculous meaning behind it. "What? I don't think - "

"Oh come on Gen! You can't keep them all for yourself. There have to be a few that you don't mind parting with."

The most outrageous part of it was that Samara was serious. She was not joking even if there was bubbly laughter in her voice. Samara Abdul a hundred percent wanted Gen to set her up with one of her Selected, and that was what did Gen in.

"Actually, I do mind," Gen said sharply, stopping in her tracks. Samara jerked back, the look on her face priceless - like she had never been told no before. Perhaps she hadn't. Perhaps she really was that shallow and spoiled, just like Beau had always said.

"Are you serious right now?" Samara asked, cocking her head, her brown eyes narrowing. Gen could feel a hissy fit coming on, not quite Delphine-level, but close. The funny thing was, Gen was equating Samara to her bratty, insufferable sister. Since when had that happened? All the good that she used to see in Samara paled in comparison to the bad, and Gen was done putting up with it.

"All you care about is looks, and dates, and price tags. You don't care about them, about _me_. Those boys deserve better," Gen insisted, feeling the words so long suppressed build up in her throat, unable to be contained any longer. " _I_ deserve better."

Samara gaped like a fish, but Gen didn't stick around to enjoy her small victory. She walked away, just like that. Like Samara meant nothing. And when did _that_ happen?

So many feelings spun through Gen's head and heart that it started to hurt. She was steps away from a breakdown or a panic attack or something. The high would wear off and she'd freak out about what she had just done, the friendship she had just more than likely ruined, but that was a problem for later. To curl up in a ball on the middle of the dance floor would be a huge no-no. So, she pulled on a brave face and stood by her boys.

"Are you alright?" Hugo asked, the first to approach her. He looked slightly uncomfortable at her crying, like he didn't know what to do. Gen didn't blame him; she wasn't sure what to do with herself either.

"I'm fine," Gen lied through her teeth, smiling as if that made it more believable. "Just...dance with me?"

Hugo didn't ask any questions, just did as he was told. There wasn't any talking with their dancing, but Gen appreciated the space. It's like he knew that talking wouldn't make things better. When the song ended, all he did was smile and walk away.

Gen danced with Anatole next, and then Seb. Mostly because mindless things helped her calm down, but also because she knew that it would be weird if she was to retire for the night without actually participating in festivities. Not that dancing with her boys was a chore, but right now her bed sounded far better and less dramatic than this night was turning out to be.

 _I can't believe I'm doing this,_ Gen thought to herself as she walked up to the least desirable bachelor in the place: Lochan Bellerose.

"Your turn."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dance. With me," Gen stated bluntly, her hand still extended. "From what I remember, you ran out on our last one. You owe me."

Lochan sneered down at Gen's hand as if it were going to bite him. His nose scrunched up, brow furrowing as if this were some make or break decision, and quite honestly, Gen was about to take her request back if he kept being a dick about it. But he took her hand at the last second and led the both of them out onto the dance floor.

"Happy now?" He asked, stiff as a board as they started their waltz. Every movement he made was rigid, as if he'd rather be anywhere else.

"I'd be happier if you finally just loosened up and not hate everything as much as you want everyone to believe you do."

"That's rather presumptuous to think you know me that well."

"Maybe it wouldn't be if you actually let me know something about you. It's only been, oh, I don't know, three months since we met and you're still just some uptight asshole."

"You flatter me, _Votre Altesse_ ," Lochan scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "Do you ever stop to think that the reason I don't tell you things is because I don't want you, or anyone else, to know? My business is mine and mine alone. But I suppose you wouldn't understand that, given that your life is a spectacle for all to see."

"Now who's the flatterer?" Gen shot back, 'accidentally' managing to step on Lochan's foot as he twirled her. "If this life is such a spectacle, why stick around?"

"I have the chance to be a prince," Lochan replied, as if the answer were obvious. "Only a fool would give that up."

"And?"

"And what?"

"You just want to be a prince - that's the only reason?" Gen pressed, knowing she was creeping up on some kind of breakthrough. "No desperate need to impress Daddy?"

Lochan flinched and glared down at Gen, but said nothing.

"No, I get it. I might be the only one who gets it. And if you stopped fucking pushing everyone away, maybe you would see that."

Lochan continued staring, still saying nothing. But nothing could be a good thing - at least he didn't have a snarky comment. Could this be the progress Gen was aiming for? Was there really a man beneath the cold-hearted machine?

Gen would never know.

They were interrupted for the second time, this time by none other than Arlo Moreau. His blue eyes were stormy, filled with something tense and dangerous and aimed solely at Lochan.

"Excuse you, the princess and I are in the middle of something," Lochan snapped, glaring at Arlo as if he were an annoying insect. In this moment, Gen was inclined to agree with him.

Arlo's angry eyes dragged from Lochan down to Gen, opting to ignore the other boy altogether.

"Mind if I cut in?"

"Yes, I do," Lochan retorted, ready to pull Gen back into the dance, but Arlo remained firmly in their way.

"I was asking Gen."

" _Please,_ " Lochan sneered, eyeing Arlo from head to toe, sizing him up and deeming him lowlier than dirt on his shoe in less than ten seconds flat. "As if she would ever want to dance with _you_."

Gen should have seen it coming. Should have seen the signs. She'd been in this position before, on the cusp of a storm that was about to break.

Thankfully, Dante recognized it first, pulling Gen out of the way just as Arlo's fist went flying and connected with Lochan's jaw.

A nearby woman screamed, couples getting out of the way of the fight that was rapidly unfurling. Dante still had Gen shielded so she couldn't see anything. This was the second time he had protected her; maybe he should take Henri's job. But as safe and warm as his ridiculously strong arms were, she had to handle this before it got even more out of hand.

Wiggling out of Dante's grip, Gen was faced with a mess. Arlo had Lochan on his back, pinned on the floor while he kneeled over him, ready to hit him again. No one was doing a damn thing, Henri was caught up in the crowd, and the guards were too far away to do anything either. It was up to her to handle her boys.

"Hey! Knock it off!" Gen ordered, running over and pulling back hard on Arlo's arm so that he couldn't swing.

Looking down, she saw that Lochan had a split lip, a bruise blooming under his eye. Arlo had already gotten in a few shots. It made her sick.

Lochan took the opportunity to scuttle out from under Arlo, jumping back up to his feet with little grace. His perfectly coiffed hair was ruined, and his expensive suit had a tear in the sleeve. And he looked absolutely livid. Instead of physical violence, however, he just stalked away, the crowd parting for him as if he had the plague.

"Lochan, wait!" Gen cried, but it was too late to go after him. She watched him ascend the stairs, retreating into the palace - to do what was the question. He had every right to press charges, but all Gen could think about was the backlash this was going to bring the monarchy and the Selection...if he even still wanted to be a part of the Selection after this.

Frustrated and tired, Gen turned to Arlo, ready to raise hell. "You. Follow me. Now."

There was no room for argument, and Arlo did not even try to disobey. He followed Gen through the crowd and up the stairs, Henri trailing behind them, eyeing Arlo like a hawk. However, instead of tracing Lochan's steps, she turned the corner and took them into one of the sitting rooms.

Once the door was shut, Henri positioned outside, she let loose.

"Where the _hell_ do you get off acting like that?" Gen demanded, her voice dangerously low though she knew she was moments away from losing her shit. "Lochan wasn't doing anything, he wasn't saying anything; in fact, for the first time I thought that Lochan was starting to act like an actual decent human being. And then you came in and fucked that all up!"

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Because I'm not," Arlo shot back, throwing his hands around wildly. "That guy has been a giant douchebag the entire time he's been in the Selection, and what? You think that one dance is gonna save his soul? Since when did you start taking his side anyway?"

"It doesn't matter what I think, it matters that you threw fists in the middle of a fucking ballroom in front of the whole goddamn world!" Gen shouted, just as frustrated with her gestures. "How do you think that makes any of us look?"

And damn it all if Gen didn't sound just like her mother. The words, not matter how true, made her cringe, giving her flashbacks to the breakfast table and Beau storming out in a whirlwind of tears. She had hated her mother for pulling the image card. She hated that now she understood why her mother did it.

"Oh, so I'm an embarrassment now?"

Arlo was defiant. He could be rude. He could be an ass. But never had Gen minded any of that, knowing she could be those things herself. Until now. Arlo had still, all this time later, failed to grasp the concept of tact. And that, Gen realized, was something that was never going to change.

"Yes, you are," Gen said, completely serious.

It was almost comical, the way Arlo's face dropped. As if he didn't expect her to actually agree. As if he didn't expect her to step away.

"I think you should stay here while things get sorted."

"Gen you can't be serious - "

"I said, _stay here_ ," Gen injected the royal tone into her voice, the one meant to command and pull rank. If she hated herself before, then she hated herself even more now for using it. "You've done enough damage for one night."

She didn't stick around to see the slack-jawed, slapped expression that crossed his face as she slammed the parlor door shut behind her. She had half a mind to lock it, just to be sure, but Arlo wasn't that far gone. Not yet, at least. However, that didn't mean that a little extra help wouldn't hurt.

"Henri, do you mind keeping an eye on Arlo?"

"Not at all," the bodyguard acquiesced, a knowing look in his eye. Gen knew it wasn't the best of jobs, but she figured that he would be far happier feeling useful rather than awkwardly glaring at people in a crowded ballroom.

"Great," Gen said relievedly, feeling a small weight off her shoulders knowing this one thing was temporarily taken care of. Well, almost taken care of. "Did you see which way Lochan went?"

"I believe Monsieur Bellerose was on his way to the powder room."

" _Merci beaucoup_. I owe you when we get back."

"Just doing my job, _Votre Altesse_."

Gen wanted to argue that his job was not to play babysitter to twenty-something year old man-children, but Henri had on his stern "no arguing" face that made him seem so much older than he really was. Sometimes it was hard to believe that there were only a few years separating them. She could really use some of his rock-solid composure right about now.

Instead, she smiled and turned down the hall, ready for part two of the fallout from this epic disaster. She would have to have a lengthy conversation with these boys once things died down. Her parents, she realized with a heavy heart, would most likely want Arlo to go home. Mistakes like his could not be afforded, not by the monarchy, and the press were unforgiving. He couldn't keep giving into his asinine mood swings and keep expecting Gen to pick up his messes. It wasn't fair to her, even if she was the one who put herself in this situation in the first place.

Arlo said he wanted out from day one, and she pressured him into staying. It was her own fault. But that didn't meant that Arlo wasn't also in the wrong. She wasn't sure what was going to happen after tonight, but when they both cooled down, they had some serious things to discuss.

And Lochan...poor Lochan. Two words Gen never thought she would ever find herself thinking about the pompous douchebag. She really thought she was starting to get through to him, and now Arlo probably set him back to the starting point.

Her nerves were getting worse the closer she got to the powder room, trying to prepare for whatever state of distress or aggression Lochan would be in when she met him. She needed to go over her strategy, how she was going to smooth this over when the stock broker would surely want to throw the book at Arlo and sue him for damages. She called upon all her diplomatic prowess, however limited it may be, to get her through this encounter.

However, Gen was sidetracked by a door stuck ajar just a few feet from her intended destination.

Normally, an open door wasn't that exciting. Gen would have just kept on walking. But a flash of familiar red caught her eye, followed by the sound of muffled crying, and immediately Gen was drawn in. She crept closer to the door and slowly lifted her gaze to peek inside.

Gen knew it was wrong to intrude, that she had just made it a point not an hour beforehand to stay out of this Bloomsdale-Subramani family disaster. But now this drama had her oncle sitting directly next to Heather on the couch of a dimly lit room, hands clasped together and Heather's face buried in his neck as she sobbed. It was far too intimate a gesture to be considered friendly.

They were speaking, Gen noticed, as she watched their lips move. She was too far away to make out the hushed words, so she pressed her ear to the door in hopes of hearing clearer.

 _" - tell me what you need. One word, and it's done. We could leave tomorrow - Finn will understand."_

She had heard enough - enough to shatter everything she thought she knew about her oncle.

In her haste to escape, Gen stumbled backward from her crouching post and ran into the door. She watched her oncle and Heather startle on the couch. Then, her oncle made eye contact, and Gen knew she was caught. She broke out into a sprint down the hall. Hopefully she could round the corner to the mezzanine before he caught up. Or maybe he would just let her go.

No such luck.

"Gen!"

She kept moving. She wanted to get as far away from him and that room and this whole damn night as possible.

" _Gen!_ "

This time was louder. Oncle Kaden sounded distressed, but mostly...angry. As if he had any right to be after the shit he just pulled. Gen was a lot of things - _Dieu_ knew she had the tendency to be a spectacular fuck up - but she was not a cheater, and that automatically placed her on the higher moral ground.

"How dare you," she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. "How _dare_ you!"

"That wasn't what it looked like - "

"After everything that Tante Finnley has gone through, done for your family, for your country, _this_ is how you repay her?" Gen seethed, unable to stay civil now that the floodgates were opened. "You disgust me."

"If you would just listen - "

"Listen to what? Your excuses?" Gen cut her oncle off yet again, not even giving him the chance to defend himself. As if he were worthy of a defense. "How long has this been going on, huh? How long have you been fucking Heather behind everyone's back? Is that why you really forced her to get involved in my Selection? So you could have an excuse to see her whenever you wanted? It must be so much easier to arrange booty calls when there are two royal jets at your disposal instead of one."

"You are out of line," Oncle Kaden warned, the first bouts of anger slipping through that maddeningly even facade. He was always so calm, so cool, and if anything that made Gen even angrier.

"No, _you_ are out of line!" Gen practically screamed. She knew they had been inching closer and closer to the ballroom, the sounds of laughter and music filtering in from the end of the hall, the staircase only a few feet away, but Gen didn't care who overheard them. Let the whole world hear what a lying, cheating asshole her oncle was.

"You are talking about things that you don't even understand!" Oncle Kaden finally snapped, and Gen had to admit, it was more than a little intimidating to see him so angry. But she was past the point of no return. She had to stand her ground, and she would, for her tante's sake. "The history between Heather and I, the things we have gone through together, things you couldn't even begin to imagine, have left us with a connection that is stronger than most. What you saw, the moment you _invaded_ and _spied_ upon, was nothing other than two friends consoling one another, and I will not apologize for that."

"Bullshit," Gen spat. "I don't believe that for one moment."

Truth be told, Gen wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe it so much. Her heart was breaking as yet another one of her beloved mentors let her down. She had always looked up to Oncle Kaden, always seen him as someone to emulate and aspire to be. Now, all she saw was his transgression.

"I don't care what you believe, because it's the truth."

"Daddy," Gabbi came running up, pulling on her father's pant leg, successfully cutting Gen off from firing back. The young girl was dressed in her night clothes, no nanny in sight. Why she was even there in the first place was beyond Gen. "Daddy, it's time for bed."

"Gabbi, go find your mother. She'll tuck you in," Oncle Kaden said firmly, trying to push his impressionable young daughter away from the conflict.

"Yeah, let her go and find Tante Finnley," Gen scoffed, shooing Gabbi away even though the little girl still had her fists tightly wound in her father's pant leg, hiding behind him. "Let her tell her mother that her father and Auntie Gen were fighting and see how long it takes for her to find out why."

Oncle Kaden scowled something dark and fierce. "My God, Gen! Do you really think that the world works that black and white?"

"I don't know what I think anymore."

One more long, hard look at her oncle and Gen was turning away. Her heart was hammering out of her chest, enough to give her palpitations. She was sweating and shaking and needed a drink. Badly.

"Where are you going?" Oncle Kaden demanded, still staring after his niece.

"Back to the party. I don't want to look at you right now."

"No, we are not leaving things like this. Not until you calm down and let me set the record straight."

He was insistent to continue this battle, wasn't he? He just didn't know when to give up, and neither did Gen. It was a flaw on both their parts, it seemed.

Gen spun back on her heel, her tone scathing as she spat, "I don't want to hear anything from you."

There were little hands at her waist, and she looked down see Gabbi had moved on from getting her father's attention to Gen's. Any other evening and Gen would have been happy to carry the peanut back to bed and tell her a story. But this was not any other evening, and there was far too much animosity coursing through her for her to be anything other than hostile.

"Gabbi go away," Gen snapped unkindly, unable to remain civil even if the little girl looked frightened at seeing two of the people she loved most yell at each other.

"Gen just calm down and we can talk about this like adults," Oncle Kaden pleaded, reaching out for her, but she flinched away.

"Don't touch me!" Gen demanded, shoving her oncle back. She didn't want him near her, his touch akin to poison. "Just stay away from me!"

"Not until you listen!"

His voice boomed off the walls, drawing attention from the guests who lingered near the entryway. People were looking now, pointing and whispering as if to say, " _Free show on the balcony! Watch the French princess make a fool of herself for the second time tonight!_ " and it was too much. Too much noise, too much rage, too much crumbling around her. This whole damn night was _too much_ , and she wanted the little hands to just _stop_.

"Gabbi, what do you want!"

She had misjudged their distance from the stairs.

Because when Gen spun around, fueled by all her righteous fury, the train of her dress smacked right into the tiny girl and sent her tumbling down.


	27. An Illéan Holiday Part 3

A/N: In this chapter, Ruby attempts to put her pharmacy knowledge to use in order to semi-realistically (key word: semi) solve medical problems. Sorry if I do science dirty. Also (something that will make sense later in the chapter) a rally bag is an IV bag full of B vitamins that hospitals give to patients who check into the ER super drunk and hungover in order to speed up recovery. Other than that, I hope everyone enjoys! Thank you for all the continued love and support!

* * *

An Illéan Holiday Part Three

At first, Gen couldn't comprehend what was going on.

She felt the impact of something hitting her skirt. She felt herself lose balance in her high heeled shoes. She heard the uniform gasp of partygoers coming from down below. But it wasn't until she wobbled around, a feeling of dread creeping into her chest, and saw the tiny heap of Gabbi lying at the foot of the very steep marble stairway that everything clicked into place.

Intentional or not, she pushed Gabbi down the stairs.

And then everything turned into chaos.

Oncle Kaden shoved Gen aside, taking the stairs by twos to get to his daughter but his touch felt like it was coming from under water, the impact not registering. From somewhere in the crowd, Gen heard a very high pitched scream that she did not want to know the owner of. The sound was heart-wrenching enough without putting a devastated face to it. Yet still, it was distorted, like Gen had cotton shoved in her ears. Everything blurred away except for the little girl curled up on the floor.

She did this to Gabbi. She did this to the poor, innocent peanut. But that didn't make any sense! She loved Gabbi more than anything. She would never do anything to hurt her!

"Out of the way!" Anatole shouted in English, pushing through the crowd of onlookers rather roughly, shoving people aside. "Everyone out of the way! I'm a doctor!"

Seb was right on Anatole's heels, both boys rushing to Gabbi's side. They threw off their jackets in haste, everyone including Oncle Kaden clearing a circle to allow them to work. One would have been impressed by the theatrics had she not been so fucking terrified. Anatole was the one who was closest to her neck, his first two fingers reaching up the underside of Gabbi's jaw, checking her vitals.

"I can't find a pulse," Anatole said, his voice quiet but it might as well have been shouted from the rooftops, loud as a gunshot to Gen's ears.

Why couldn't he find a pulse? All Gabbi did was fall down the stairs! She should be crying, she should be holding her head and screaming. She should be breathing just fine!

Seb seemed just as confused as he scrambled forward, fingers positioned firmly on Gabbi's wrist to see if this new spot would find any better luck. His brow was furrowed as the seconds ticked by. It was painfully clear that he, too could not find a pulse either.

Both boys shared a look before coming to some unspoken consensus, breaking into a flurry of movement.

"Start compressions. Two sets of fifteen followed by two breaths," Anatole ordered, jumping up to his feet.

Seb nodded and rolled up his sleeves, hunching his body over Gabbi's as he began to press the heel of his palm into her fragile ribcage. It looked unbearably harsh and painful. They were hurting her...

"Somebody get a medic!" Anatole roared over the crowd, staring all the nearby guests down until they spurred into action. "Now!"

And throughout all the chaos, through the crowded seas and servants rushing past her to sprint to the hospital wing, racing the clock and _Dieu_ himself, Gen was frozen. She was stuck in the middle of a storm, facing down the eye of the hurricane, and yet could not move. It was like a nightmare playing out in slow motion, and the little girl on the floor was the focal point.

She was so pale...so still...yet so beautiful, like an angel...

"Gen!"

Someone called her name, but it sounded muffled. Why was someone calling _her_ name? Shouldn't they be focused on Gabbi?

"Gen, look at me!" Anatole demanded, the intensity in his voice drawing Gen's eyes towards his. He reached out and shook her shoulders - _since when had she moved down to ground level?_ \- and the room started to spin for real. "Do you want to help her?"

Gen nodded deftly, unable to say anything, her voice trapped behind a growing lump and a feral urge to scream.

"Then do as I say and hold her head back."

She was being pushed to her knees right at Gabbi's shoulders. From this close up, Gen could see just how wan her skin really was, just how unsettlingly cool she was to the touch. When her hands reached into the nest of chestnut curls, they touched something slick and warm.

Blood.

Gen nearly threw up, but she forced it back. Her heart was pounding, her vision swimming, clouded with tears, but she held on. She had to hold on for Seb who was counting on Gen to do her part and help him keep Gabbi steady. Hold on for Gabbi who was clinging to the edge of life with each breath Seb pushed into her unwilling lungs.

The medics arrived seconds later, running onto the scene, everyone making way for the crash cart and gurney they brought with them, as if this wasn't a full blown spectacle already. Between the beeping machines and lights being flashed every which way, Gen felt like she was under assault. Gabbi was ripped out from under her, leaving Gen with nothing other than panicked eyes and red-stained hands.

 _Dieu...les mains..._

Gen wished she could cut them off, remove each blood stained finger from her body so that the sight wouldn't haunt her. She knew it would. No matter how hard she scrubbed, all she would ever see is crimson lodged under her fingernails, crusted over her knuckles, covering her down to the wrist.

There were more voices, this time attached to arms that were pulling her up, but she was nothing but dead weight. She swayed on her feet, vision latched onto her hands, unable to look away.

"...Are you alright?"

No, she was not alright. Nothing was alright. Nothing would ever be alright again. But she couldn't articulate that because her tongue was too heavy and the room was too hot and her mind felt like it was being swarmed by a thousand angry bees.

Then her knees gave out and everything collapsed into black.

* * *

When Gen came to, she woke up on a firm mattress with a thin white sheet pulled around her waist. For a moment, she wondered what she had done to get herself into a place like this; there was no way she would have let herself get drunk enough at a family event to require a rally bag.

Then, the memories from earlier came crashing back in, and Gen wished for the rally bag option.

 _Need to get to Gabbi,_ she thought, kicking the blanket away. Gen tried to sit up, but she did so too quickly, her head spinning so violently she was forced to lie back down. Or was it the room that was spinning? Whatever it was, it needed to stop, or someone needed to turn down the lights.

How long had she been out? For the life of her, she could not remember getting to the infirmary. Someone must have carried her.

 _Parfait,_ she muttered under her breath. _As if my reputation already hadn't taken enough hits. Now I get to add fainting damsel to the list._

"You're supposed to take those."

The masculine voice startled her, head snapping to the source. Lucas Aubry of all people sat ram-rod straight in the plastic waiting chair in the corner, his eyes glancing towards the end table holding a tray with a glass of water and three pain relievers on top.

"Thanks," Gen replied, swallowing the drugs down appreciatively. It would take a few minutes for the drugs to take affect, so she distracted herself with something else. "So...what've you been doing? Just...watching me sleep?"

He only flushed, remaining quiet as he scooted the chair over to the side of her bed. He reached out and placed something small on the edge: a palm-sized plush cat that looked remarkably like Ange.

 _"Qu'est ce que ce?"_

Lucas shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "It helps."

 _"Avec quoi?"_

"With...e-everything...?" Lucas stammered more like a question than an explanation. He must have been embarrassed, but the fact that he was trying to comfort her made Gen's heart lurch in her chest. "When things get overwhelming...i-it just...I don't know. It just helps."

Gen nodded and didn't press him any further. Instead, she scooped the plush animal up with immaculately clean hands - _someone must have scrubbed the blood away, so why could she still feel it?_ \- and held it close to her chest. She gave it an experimental squeeze, pressing all her worry and tension into the tiny toy. Strangely enough, it made her feel the tiniest bit better.

"She's going to be okay you know," Lucas surprised her by speaking again.

Gen only squeezed the plush animal tighter. "How do you know?"

"I don't, but, I-I have to believe it," Lucas nodded his head fervently, as if convincing himself. "Sh-she's a good kid. She's so full of life, so young. She's gonna make it."

Gen sniffled back some tears. What did she ever do to deserve kindness like this? Didn't he know she was the villain in this story? "I can see why Vange likes you so much."

Lucas looked like a deer caught in headlights, his posture immediately going rigid. He most likely thought he was in trouble, when in fact he was anything but.

"It's okay. It's chill. I don't care what's going on between you two," Gen said, and strangely enough, it didn't feel weird to admit. Maybe she should have been mad that her sister was the one to find a connection in the Selection, but she wasn't. "Hey, maybe after all this is over, when we get back, I can let you go and you can date Vange for real."

While Lucas looked at Gen as if she were the one who had fallen and hit her head, Gen could see the spark of hope there. But the moment was ruined when Arlo barged into the room like he owned the place, brushing by Lucas and commanding Gen's attention.

"We need to talk."

Infamous last words that could never end well. Gone was the brief moment of peace. Lucas took one unsure glance between she and Arlo and decided to see himself out, never one to insert himself into conflict. Which was what this was. There was no way it could end in anything else.

"I can't do this right now," Gen muttered, feeling her mood sour. Couldn't she just be miserable alone? "It's really not a good time."

"It's never going to be a _good time_ ," Arlo snapped back, far more angry than he had a right to be. If anything, Gen was the one who should be raging - raging at the unfairness of the situation. Raging at Dieu for doing this to an innocent child. Instead, she had to waste that fury on scolding an insolent puppy who refused to learn.

"You want to talk? Fine," Gen huffed, throwing her arms out to her sides, fed up with his attitude. "Let's talk about how you physically assaulted someone and yet still have the audacity to come over here and act as if it was my fault."

"I never said it was your fault."

"Really? Because that's what it seems like."

"I just don't understand you Gen! How can you stand to be around douchebags like Lochant? All he does is whine and complain and insult everyone around him, including you, and yet you still keep him and send perfectly nice guys home. Why is that? Is he bribing you or something? Did you make some kind of arrangement?"

Gen was left speechless at the implication. Speechless and deeply offended. She might have gotten up to some crazy things in her day, but _that_? Never. It was hard to believe that the boy she cuddled at the movies with and snuck cookies for was the same boy spewing venom in front of her now.

"I am going to pretend you did not just suggest that I am trading sex for a spot in the Selection."

Her voice was dangerously low, and blessedly Arlo got the hint on that one. He backed off, but only marginally.

"Well then I'm out of ideas! And I refuse to believe that you're actually falling for the guy," he huffed, rolling his eyes as if the notion was ridiculous. That was, until Gen made the mistake of being purposely passive and silent, Arlo's eyes going wide and disbelieving in a devastated way. "Gen...please...tell me you're not actually in love with this guy..."

"I'm not in love with him," Gen snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"Then who are you in love with?"

"My relationship with the other guys is none of your business."

"Except it is!" Arlo lost it, reaching to pull at his dark hair. He looked like a mix between frantic and furious. "It fucking is my business! Because you insist at keeping us here at your beck and call, yanking us around on your golden chain, and I'm sick of it! I deserve to know where I stand!"

"On very thin ice," Gen hissed, now thoroughly pissed off. If she thought she could make a dent, she would have punched him in that infuriatingly smart mouth. Give him a taste of his own medicine. "This conversation is over."

"Like hell it is!" Arlo refuted, not giving up. "Not until you give me an answer."

"Do you hear how crazy you sound?" Gen challenged, feeling angry tears gathering in the corners of her eyes but doing nothing to push them away. "Why do you care so much? You didn't even want to be here!"

"Well, I'm here now and surprise! I actually give a shit!"

Anger had overpowered them both, turning them into their worst selves. Gen could feel it down to her bones, the way she wanted to tear him down, hit him where it hurt. The damn plush cat worked for stress but it certainly didn't work for anger; no matter how hard she squeezed, all she did was end up with a cramped hand and angry half-crescents carved into her palm.

 _Why did he have to push so damn hard? Why did he have to grind on her last good nerve. And why did he have to keep opening his damn mouth?_

"Why is this so hard for you to just admit it!"

"Because I'm a fucking lesbian!"

The silence that followed the confession was so loud that it rung in Gen's ears as if she were standing right under the bells in Notre Dame - a painful, cacophonous sound that drowned everything else out. Everything except her thundering heart, the organ beating so fast that she thought it might burst.

 _What...what had she done?_

"I..." Gen stuttered, unable to even process what she had just said. She was shell shocked, this fight using up the last of her wits. She fumbled towards the door, not even looking at Arlo's face, not even caring about the fallout. "I have to go check on Gabbi."

Arlo didn't try to stop her this time.

She pushed her way out of the room and into the halls, the space feeling to claustrophobic. The walls were too white. The lights were too harsh. She felt more like a prisoner than a patient. Or perhaps she was both, for she certainly felt like a prisoner in her own collapsing mind.

Every single good thing, she had to sabotage. Every single bad situation, she had to make worse.

Why couldn't she just keep her damn mouth shut? Why couldn't she just keep up the charade for a little bit longer? Wasn't it bad enough when Seb was the only one who knew? And now Arlo?

The problems were racking up too many to count, the biggest and most tantamount staring her right in the face as she turned the corner towards Gabbi's room.

"Hey, what did I miss?" Gen asked to no one in particular as she approached the waiting area, wiping at her eyes that were blatantly red. None of the inhabitants answered her, nor asked her about the tears, as they had undoubtedly shed many of their own. Gen felt like a selfish bastard knowing that her tears were not for her sweet cousin, but for herself. This was hardly the time for personal problems.

When it became evident that no one was going to give Gen the answers she so desired, she decided to search them out on her own. That led her to find her tante and oncle standing by their daughter's door, deep into a conversation that Gen stumbled upon half-way through.

"W-what do you mean?" Tante Finnley asked, her voice trembling with tears. "All she did was bump her head..."

"That she did, Your Majesty, but I am afraid that is only the start of things," the doctor replied solemnly, hesitation crossing his face before he found the courage to say the next words. "It appears as though Her Highness has some kind of congenital heart defect. Given Your Majesty's family history of heart problems, this is not a surprising find. It explains why, upon Her Highness' fall, CPR was needed. We suspect that the stress of her descent down the stairs elevated the princess' heartbeat enough so that it essentially wore out her weakened cardiac muscle. In summary, her heart simply gave out."

"But...she is alright now...isn't she?"

"We have stitched up the bump on her head. That was taken care of. However, her heart muscle is still incredibly weak and is decaying at a rapid rate. At this rate, she will be in full blown heart failure within a matter of weeks."

"What can we do? Please, tell me you can do something!"

"A new heart is her best chance at survival. Her Highness has been placed on the top of the transplant list. We have an organ being flown in from Likely as we speak, and have started Her Highness on a full antibiotic regimen in preparation. As soon as it touches down, we will take her in for emergency surgery."

"What are her odds?" Oncle Kaden asked, his face set in stony lines that aged him a decade. "Be honest with me doctor. I have lost too many people in my life to hold onto false hope."

"She is young and resilient, but transplants are always risky. There is a fair chance she will pull through, but equally as much a chance that we will lose her," the doctor said resolutely, never once breaking under the pressure. "Rest assured, my team and I will do everything in our power to save your daughter."

"I know you will," Oncle Kaden nodded, incredibly composed in such a high-stakes situation. Gen knew it was for Tante Finnley's sake who was sobbing inconsolably in her husband's arms. The dull sheen in Oncle Kaden's eyes let her know that if he could publicly break down, he would. But his wife and his country needed him. Now was the time to stand tall in the face of impending disaster. It was what he had been doing since he was nineteen and his world shattered for the first time, after all. Despite the recent spat, Gen knew that out of all the people in the world to be put through tragedy, he was the one who deserved it least. He had suffered enough.

All of this despair made Gen feel weak. She ran into the first pair of open arms she saw: Seb's arms. Arms untainted by any of the night's horrors. Seb always seemed to know what Gen needed anyway, wrapping her up tightly and holding her close so she could hear his own heartbeat in her ear. It was a comforting sound - one less person to worry about. One less person she cared about in the balance of life and death.

There was no judgement as she sobbed into his jacket, ugly tears making her face red and splotchy. Seb didn't say a word, just running fingers through her tangled mess of hair, whispering comforting words even if they were completely baseless.

 _Everything is going to be okay,_ he whispered, swaying her gently from side to side. _Everything is going to be okay._

That was a lie. Nothing would ever be okay.

It didn't matter if the heart defect was always going to be a problem, fall or no fall. If Gabbi died, Gen would never be able to forgive herself.

* * *

Gen had a blessed two hours by herself in her room before she was found again.

"Knock knock."

The intruder was one Neelam Subramani brandishing a peace offering of a bottle of champagne - top shelf, if Gen read the label correctly. As terrible as the night had been, Gen could really use a drink, but that didn't mean she was willing to accept one from Neelam. Gen was seconds from telling Neelam to fuck off when the younger girl took a step into the light and Gen really got a good look. Her makeup was ruined, black mascara tracks smudging her cheeks, her hair was a disaster, and her dress was rumpled and falling off her frame. In summary: she looked like shit, and Gen didn't have it in her to be mean to someone having as rough a go at it than she was. No matter how much that someone managed to annoy her.

When Gen kept staring, saying nothing, Neelam took that as her cue to continue and that she was welcome. She popped the cork on the bottle rather loudly, filching two glasses from Dieu-knows where and pouring them both a hefty portion. Gen took her glass from Neelam's hand rather roughly, still pissed at the girl for her actions from before.

"Usually when these sort of things happen, I call Risha and Kushna and we drown our feelings in makeup and photoshoots. But after what I pulled, I don't think they want to talk to me either."

"Why not go cry to Kase?" Gen snapped and disguised her frown with a drink, unable to pass up the opportunity. Besides, who chose to come to their mother's mentee's side for comfort when they had a perfectly good boy toy to use for this express purpose?

"Ah, him..." Neelam sighed, placing the bottle on the table and throwing herself on the sofa next to Gen, dabbing indiscreetly at her eyes. "Am I a terrible person for calling it quits with a guy the same night his sister goes in for emergency heart surgery?"

Gen startled, her head snapping towards Neelam who, for once in her life, had not a shred of humor to her expression. In fact, she looked a little too morose. It was disturbing, and Gen couldn't find it in her heart to ask about that little relationship detail right now. "A little bit, but it can't be worse than being the one who pushed his sister down the stairs, therefore causing the need for said surgery."

"And don't forget, it's his birthday."

"Oh damn," Gen let out a huge sigh, now feeling extremely bad for Kase. "That's like, the icing on top of the shit cake."

Neelam let out a watery chuckle. "He's probably going to sue us for emotional damages."

"The only suing going around is when Lochan decides to press charges for Arlo's little fist fight."

"Is he really?"

"I'm not sure, but I wouldn't put it past him," Gen mumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off the headache she knew was coming. She barely had time to process the fight and its repercussions between worrying about Gabbi and what had transpired between she and Arlo. "I haven't been able to talk to him; he checked himself into the infirmary but the nurse keeps saying that he doesn't want any visitors."

"What a drama queen," Neelam huffed, scrunching up her nose in distaste. Gen hadn't realized that the distaste for one Monsieur Bellerose went as far as Neelam Subramani. Perhaps she really had been blind to a few things...more than a few things at this rate.

Gen swallowed down another large gulp of champagne, feeling the fizz attack her esophagus, desperate for a change in conversation that steered far away from herself. "So...you usually plot some half-baked scheme to get your parents back together?"

"Not one this big. It was a long shot, but I was hoping...when they saw each other...with the ballroom aesthetic..." Neelam trailed off, not making much sense. "It doesn't matter. I fucked up. Not only that, but I actually managed to make things _worse_. They're never going to get back together. I...I have to accept that."

"That's not your fault."

"Yeah but I didn't really help, now did I?"

Gen debated on what to tell Neelam. Would it do the impressionable girl more harm to know what Gen had seen behind that closed door, or to keep it from her? Gen knew that if it were her parents, she would want to know. Or would she? She always thought her parents had the ideal relationship, even as rocky as she and her siblings could be. If something came along to tear that image apart...Gen didn't think she could stomach it.

So, Gen kept her mouth shut as Neelam poured another glass of the bubbly stuff.

"I can only imagine what the papers are going to say," Gen grumbled.

"Yeah...best not to look at those," Neelam said, patting Gen's knee supportively.

That gesture alone let Gen know it was bad. She could take people talking trash, could take the nasty rumor stories that less credible rags were printing. But this was not just a tiny rumor, nor an insignificant event. The entire world watched her have a mental breakdown and then essentially hurl her cousin down the stairs. No matter how much she defended herself, she was the villain in this story. The press had always been on her side. Until now.

"Hey, it'll blow over," Neelam said supportively. "Gabbi is going to pull through like a champ, you're going to kiss and make up, and everything will go back to normal in no time."

"That's just wishful thinking."

"It is with that attitude," Neelam muttered, filling up Gen's glass. "Drink more. You'll feel better."

"I think this is doing the opposite of making me feel better."

"That's because it hasn't hit you yet."

Gen shook her head. She knew a thing or two more about drinking than her underage companion, but didn't feel like getting in an argument with someone as headstrong as Neelam. She wasn't feeling up to a fight, not after the night she'd had.

"So...why did you and Kase break up?"

"A day hardly counts as having something to _break up_ ," Neelam argued, swaying a bit in her seat, hair tumbling over her shoulder. Gen got distracted by the motion, wondering if it was as soft as it looked... _which is just weird to think about, stop that_ , Gen mentally berated herself.

"Still," Gen pressed. For some reason, she just needed to know. It was itching at her.

"I don't know," Neelam shrugged, looking a little lost. "He was so, so sweet, like a proper gentleman opening doors and complimenting me and all that other cheesy stuff white people go nuts for. But there wasn't that... _spark_. Kissing was.. _.boring._ It didn't feel right, and like, kissing is supposed to be BAM! Fireworks! You know?"

Gen nodded her head in understanding, now very intrigued on where this was going.

"I don't think it's him. I think it's boys," Neelam confessed, looking like she'd come across some kind of revelation. "I've kissed some crusty boys and some bougie boys in my life, but they're just so _blah_."

"So...what does that mean?"

"I don't know," she admitted with another shrug, and was strangely calm about the whole thing. "But figuring it out is half the fun."

"Well then," Gen cleared her throat and raised her glass. "To figuring it out."

"I'll drink to that!"

The smile that crept up Gen's face was small but still valid - a reminder that she wasn't completely broken beyond repair. Perhaps Neelam was right and things would be better after all. Gen was willing to believe that, at least until the champagne buzz wore off.

They still had half a bottle and the rest of the night to go.


	28. An Illéan Holiday Part 4

A/N: Hey, do y'all want to hear something crazy? There's only like, 5-6 more chapters left after this one! Insane right? This has been one wild ride and I can't believe that it's winding down! Well, I say winding down in terms of length, not nearly in plot because the ending of this chapter changes the WHOLE game. So strap in, this could get bumpy! Love you all to pieces! Thank you all for your continued support and wonderful words!

* * *

An Illéan Holiday Part Four

Gen had the most terrible crick in her neck when she woke up.

It was like someone had left her to lay on a brick for hours. Of course, sitting up did no better, the world swirling on its axis as she failed to keep upright. She hadn't been this hungover in a long time, and never this badly.

Then, the memories from the night before came rushing back in all their terrible glory, and she could have been sick for a whole other reason.

The only thing keeping her from puking was a sleeping Neelam Subramani who had her head pillowed on Gen's chest which was arguably much more comfortable than the arm of the settee Gen had been using. They must've passed out, the empty bottle of champagne on the floor at their feet, two sticky, empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

Despite the crick in her neck and the pounding in her brain, Gen actually was pretty comfortable like this. Neelam wasn't too heavy, and she didn't snore nor toss and turn so it wasn't like she was as annoying in sleep as she was fully conscious. She was actually kinda cute like this, her mouth slightly parted, nose scrunched up. Gen had to fight the urge to run her fingers through the girl's tangled black mess of hair. That would be crossing a line...as if they still had any left to cross after getting drunk and cuddling the night away.

 _Commiserating,_ Gen reminded hereself. _You were commiserating, that was it._

Gen wondered if Neelam, in her dreams, was as blissfully unaware of the disaster that was last night as Gen was. If so, Gen was determined to make sure that the younger girl stayed asleep as long as possible. No one wanted to wake up to a world where you pushed you cousin down the stairs and sent her into cardiac arrest, or one where you successfully imploded your parents relationship yet again.

Jesus, what the pair they made.

When she finally gathered the strength to pull herself off the couch, Gen called for a maid (Neelam was a blessedly heavy sleeper so she felt none of the jostling or squirming). The maid was quick to respond and very discreet, complying to Gen's requests for pain relievers and some food without saying a word. Something had to be said for that; Elyan would never dare say a word, but if Gen were back in Versailles with any other maid, word of this would get around the entire palace by noon.

Since Gen was in her own room, she was able to slip into the shower and scrub the previous day away until her skin was pink and raw. It was a better color than blood red for sure. When she came padding out in a towel, breakfast was there but Neelam was gone. Gen tried to act like that didn't hurt.

She brushed her own hair and pulled it up in a top knot, slipping on some jeans and a sweater while munching on toast. It wasn't like she had any reason to get dressed up, and she still felt like shit. The maid had brought a newspaper on the breakfast tray, but Gen only threw it in the fireplace without reading it, the ends crackling and curling as they burned. Gen didn't have to read it to know it said terrible things about her. Even she had terrible things to say about herself.

Once the painkillers were working and her stomach didn't feel ready to heave, Gen decided she needed to face the music and rejoin everyone in by Gabbi's side. Her surgery was supposed to be ending soon, and Gen wanted to know the outcome - for better or for worse. So, she left a note for the maid to contact the Parisian airfield to prep the royal jet for a return trip, and went on her way.

It was a lonely walk down the empty halls of the Angeles palace. On better days, Gen assumed this place was full of laughter and the good kind of chaos that could only follow a herd of small girls. But there was no laughter now, all the children in their rooms with their nannies except for the one lying sick in a hospital bed. What made things worse was that the medical wing of the palace was underground, so Gen had to step down into the frigid underbelly, cold seeping into her bones. She hadn't noticed it before, but then again, she wasn't in the best frame of mind the last time she stepped foot down there.

The whole room seemed to still when she walked in. Normally Gen didn't mind the attention, but this wasn't the kind she liked. This was the kind that let her know that her presence was unexpected but not exactly wanted, and she immediately regretted coming down here. She wanted to turn back, but that would only make her look like a coward. Gen reminded herself that she wasn't there for her; she was there for Gabbi. Her pride could take a hit just this once. It was the least she could sacrifice.

Gen took a seat in a chair in the corner of the room away from everyone. She hung her head, and for the first time in her life, she considered praying.

 _Dieu, if you're real, you'll fix this. You'll fix her. Because Gabbi_ deserves _so much more from life than what she's been dealt._

Gen didn't know how much time she spent with her eyes focused on the ground and her head bowed, but by the time the surgical team filed out of the operating theater, it felt like eons.

Everyone watched the army of scrubs exit the room, so many dedicated to saving one little girl. It was an incredible sight. The doctor from the night before was the last one out of the room, and the only one to stay.

"Your Majesties, I bring you good news," the lead doctor said, walking over to the hopeful couple.

"Is Gabbi going to be alright?" Tante Finnley asked, gripping tightly to her husband's hands as if she needed them to stay standing. And perhaps she did. Perhaps he was the only thing left keeping her together, and if that were true, it only made Gen's heart hurt more.

"Her Highness' surgery went as well as could be anticipated. We expect a full recovery in the next few months."

Gen felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Breathing came easier; life felt less like a punishment.

"Oh thank God," Tante Finnley sighed, relieved and exhausted as she slumped into her husband. Oncle Kaden shifted so that he could hold his wife, steadying her as she started to cry tears of joy. He, on the other hand, remained cautiously skeptical.

"Months?"

"Children are young, and resilient, but solid organ transplants take time to heal. We will still have to keep her in the infirmary to monitor for potential organ rejection, but the drug therapy regimen we have her on is suppressing her immune system enough to where rejection is a very unlikely possibility," the doctor explained, no doubt glossing over a dozen and one things that would have gone way over their heads. The man reached out and placed a hand on Oncle Kaden's shoulder as a supportive gesture. "Don't worry, Your Majesties. The worst is behind you. There are some logistics about long term care to work out, but for now, just enjoy the fact that your daughter is doing well, and soon enough, you'll have your old lives back."

Tante Finnley smiled widely, her eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you, all of you. We cannot say that enough."

"It is my honor, and my privilege," the doctor replied humbly. "But you should really be thanking those two young men who assisted in her rescue. Had they not gotten to the princess in time, this may have been a very different story."

Gen looked over to her two doctor boys, pride swelling through her chest. She didn't deserve either of them. Anatole and Seb were heroes - as if she needed actual proof. They lived up to their superhero scrubs, graduating from stitches and appendixes at children's hospitals to rescuing royalty. There was no doubt in Gen's mind that, if Tante Finnley had her way, those boys would have their careers made and want for nothing as long as they lived. It was what they deserved.

"You can go see her now, if you'd like. Though I ask that visitors limit it to two at a time and follow all the garbing precautions. We don't want to pose any unnecessary risk to the heart so soon post-op."

"Of course," Tante Finnley agreed, shaking her head as she composed herself, tugging on Oncle Kaden's arm. "We'll go first."

No one tried to stop them as they followed the doctor back to Gabbi's room. Gen felt a sense of longing to follow, but had to remind herself that she had no right to follow. She was the last person Gabbi probably wanted to see, and so she would make do with creeping through the window. But right now her parents were with her, and that was a private moment. So, Gen backed away and out of the sitting area.

There was someone else she could visit while she waited anyway.

It was easy enough to get a room number from the nurses, especially when there were only a few rooms to choose from and the largest suite was taken already. This patient's room was down the hall, the last one on the corridor, and Gen wondered if that was done on purpose to put as much distance between the tenant and everyone else. She shut the door behind her, this room identical to the one she woke up in the other day.

"Finally," Lochan sighed dramatically as he saw Gen approach. He reclined on a bed of pillows, still dressed in his expensive suit, no doubt having refused any of the typical hospital garb. Actually, upon closer examination, it was not the same suit, but a different one, as if he had asked one of the nurses to go up to his guest room and grab something fresh out of his suitcase. Gen would have balked at such a ridiculous request, but in the grand scheme of all things Lochan, it was not the most unreasonable she had heard. "I've been stuck in here for hours and none of the nurses have been by to check on me."

"In case you didn't notice, there was an actual emergency that required their attention."

"Yes, yes I heard about the princess. My condolences," Lochan said offhandedly, as if a young girl's life was an afterthought compared to his bruised cheekbone.

Gen grit her teeth to keep her cool. "She isn't dead."

Lochan only shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand in a passive gesture. Could he have mustered any less sympathy? Did he have to try to be this callous and unfeeling, or did he really just lack a soul?

"I am not dead either, though I am sure that was Monsieur Moreau's intent."

"I have talked to Arlo. He's clear that his behavior was unacceptable," Gen said, hesitant as she recalled their explosive screaming match. "I don't think he'll be a problem anymore."

"Oh? So you've finally decided to take out the trash?" Lochan asked, far too pleased by this morsel of news. " _Splendid_. He shall not be missed."

"So you accept none of the blame that you provoked an attack with your... _comments_?"

"Surely you cannot be serious," Lochan balked, having the nerve to look offended that Gen suggest he even remotely be at fault. "It is not my fault that the heathen cannot take a few words of well-deserved criticism. Honestly, _Votre Altesse_ , I thought that you would be on my side."

"I am on no one's side," Gen insisted, feeling more like a nanny breaking up a young sibling's spat. "I just want what's best for everyone."

" _What's best_ ," Lochan mocked, sticking his nose up at her. "No, I do not believe you know _what's best_. After all I have suffered in this hellscape, there is only one thing that you can do that will sufficiently make amends."

"What's that?"

"Pick me," he instructed, looking up from the bed and staring her dead in the eye. "End this charade and marry me."

"It's not like I can just...pick..." Gen spluttered, feeling very overwhelmed very quickly.

"Why not? You are the self-proclaimed future _Reine de la France,_ and I quote, no one is more powerful than you," Lochan challenged, his lips pursed in a thin, unamused line. "Besides, it is not like you could do better - not with the bottom feeders you have left to choose from. I am your best bet at a suitable match, your only bet actually."

"Only?"

Lochan rolled his eyes as if she were some kind of naïve child. "I doubt many people are going to jump at the chance to date you now that you are known for pushing children down the stairs."

It was such a low blow that Gen had a hard time believing the words had just come out of his mouth. She knew Lochan had a penchant for saying mean things, but that was crossing a line. Gen folded her arms across her chest and fired back, "And you are so noble as to tarnish your reputation to marry me?"

"My reputation has taken on damage just by participating in your little circus show. But if I come out the victor, then it will all have been worth it."

He looked so pleased with himself, like he had everything figured out. He didn't care about her, and he didn't care about ever caring. All he saw was a title and a way to climb the social ladder, and if Gen was destined to spend the rest of her life with a man, it certainly wouldn't be with a man like that. She wasn't a show pony or a bargaining chip or some kind of connection to open doors. She was a human being who was deserving of so much more.

Gen shook her head, disbelieving. "And to think I defended you."

She got up and walked away.

"Are you deaf as well as dumb? I said I was making you my final offer!" Lochan called, straining to pitch himself forward as he worked himself red in the face. It was probably the hardest he had ever had to try for something in his life, and even then all he could do was sit there mid-tantrum and look like the spoiled rich brat he was. "Do you understand? If you do not accept, I'm leaving!"

"Then you know where the door is."

The outrage on his face was hilarious. Gen couldn't help it; she smiled. Then she shut the door and didn't look back. It wasn't like he was going to run after her. He made it clear she wasn't worth his time, and he wasn't worth hers. Not anymore.

As hard as Gen tried to muster up some kind of sympathy for him, she couldn't. It felt like a weight off her shoulders.

Back in the waiting room, the crowd had thinned out. None of her boys were there, all retired back to their rooms except Anatole and Seb who were talking to Oncle Kaden in the corner. A few close family friends lingered close to one another - Allegra was curled up into her beau's side, fast asleep, so she must have stayed the night. And strangely enough Tante Finnley sat in the center of the space all by herself.

Gen felt strange approaching, but it was even stranger to remain standing in the hall. So, she pulled all her courage together and approached the woman who probably hated her guts.

"How is she?" Gen dared to ask, sitting down in the empty chair next to her tante. The older woman didn't look up at first, gaze trained on Gabbi's window.

"Better," came the response, and then those multicolored eyes came into view - red-rimmed and dulled by shadows, but still so incredibly empathetic. "Do you want to go in and see her?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Gen replied. If she went in that room and saw Gabbi sprawled out under a white sheet, looking like death warmed over...alive or not - it would wreck whatever was left of her.

Thankfully, Tante Finnley did not push. She only gave Gen a sympathetic look and pulled her into a side hug. The fact that the woman could still stand to touch her after what Gen had done to her daughter spoke volumes about her character. Of course, it was all a terrible accident; So many people had told Gen as much, but Gen still had a hard time accepting it. She knew she would for the rest of her life.

"Your Selected seem nice. Are they?"

"Most of them, yeah," Gen said, looking at the boys who had turned her life into a rollercoaster. She wondered what they thought of her now after what she'd done. She wondered if they thought she was a monster. She wondered if they were going to leave her as soon as the plane touched down in Paris. "Bringing back fond memories?"

"Fond is not the word I would use, and I doubt that is the word they would use either," she replied, her tone catching Gen off guard. Usually she was so serene and happy, but now she sounded just the slightest bit bitter. "The Selection held some of the darkest days of my life."

Given the history of Oncle Kaden's Selection, Gen really should not have been surprised, and yet, she was.

"You've never talked about it much before. Just that you met Oncle Kaden and fell in love."

"Because that is the only story anyone cares about. And in the end, I suppose it is the only one that really matters. The reality is, I had my heart broken. I lost my best friend. I had my life threatened. I watched a madman torture my remaining friends and the man I love. And yet, if I had to do it all over again, I would," she confessed, and the weight of it shocked Gen. "I am married to the kindest, most compassionate man I have ever met, who has given me six beautiful children who drive me absolutely insane but who I wouldn't trade for the entire world. I have everything I could ever want, and I am lucky enough to hold a position that lets me make a real difference in the world. What is my past suffering compared to the joy I have now?"

"How did you know, after all that terrible shit happened, that things were going to get better? How did you know staying was worth it?"

"I didn't. Falling in love with any royal is hard, because you're not just falling in love with the person, but the crown. It's always there, looming in the background like some dark storm cloud. I knew from the moment I saw Kaden that he was going to be the difficult choice. I had an easy choice. I could have gone home, married a man who I knew loved me unconditionally. But I always would have looked back and wondered what if," Tante Finnley said, fixing Gen with an intent look, as if willing her words into Gen's soul. "Real love, true love, will make you do all sorts of difficult, impossible things. _That_ is how you know it is worth it."

Gen didn't know if she had it in her to do impossible things. It wasn't every day someone went through hell and back with someone they loved, and Gen wasn't about to wish anarchy upon her people just to figure out who she loved. Truth be told, if a love like that was all about sacrifice, she didn't want it. What kind of person would she be if she asked someone to give up their entire life, risk their happiness, possibly their future, just to be with her? She wasn't worth that, and she also didn't want to be the hard choice. She didn't want the person she ended up with to resent her for the rest of her days. She didn't want her spouse to wake up in ten years and curse her for ever dragging them into this life.

Maybe all this trip was teaching her was that she was supposed to be alone. At least that way no one got hurt except her.

Oncle Kaden walked up to the two of them, one hand extended for Tante Finnley to take. She accepted it and he slowly pulled her into an embrace, leaving a lingering kiss on her forehead. Gen looked away, giving them space. It was clear, however, by the intensity of his gaze on the back of her head that he was not there for his wife. Tante Finnley's acute intuition picked up on that too, and she pecked her husband on the cheek before stepping away.

"I'll leave you two to it."

"Wait," Gen called, stalling her tante long enough to pull the plush cat Lucas Aubry gave her out of her pocket. "Give this to Gabbi for me? It helps."

Tante Finnley didn't question it. She merely nodded her head and took the toy before walking into her daughter's room, leaving Gen alone with her oncle.

"We weren't talking about you, so you can relax."

"Gen, that's not what I am worried about," Oncle Kaden sighed, his face exhausted and haggard from hours upon hours spent in limbo. Still, after all of that, he was able to look concerned. "I'm worried about you."

"Can we just skip the formalities and get to why you're really here?"

Gen didn't mean to be short, she really didn't, but after the last twenty-four hours, she was done with bullshit. Even if it came from a good place from someone she cared about. Life was too short to be spent beating around the bush.

Thankfully, Oncle Kaden didn't take offense.

"We need to talk about what happened at the ball."

"You mean what I saw between you and Heather? There's nothing to discuss. Obviously you two still have unrequited feelings or something that you insist on passing off as friendship. And that's fine. That's your business. I won't pretend to know what kind of fucked up shit you two have bonded over. But don't stand here and lie to me and say it means nothing."

"It's not nothing," he admitted, looking Gen dead in the eyes, standing his ground like the king he was. "But it's not what you think it is either. I am not, and never will be, the kind of man who is unfaithful to his wife."

Gen knew that. In her heart of hearts, Gen knew that her oncle was one of the most honorable and honest people in this world. That night, when she was strung out on emotions, alcohol, and adrenaline, she was so willing to jump to the worst case scenario. She just never thought that the truth could be so complicated.

But after all the confusion and heartache and bullshit, there was only one answer Gen wanted.

"Does Tante Finnley know?"

Oncle Kaden sighed, his posture becoming less defensive as he realized that he was no longer under fire. "Yes, she knows. Because we have a rule: we don't lie to one another."

"But you can lie to me?"

"There was no reason for you to know, no reason for anyone to know," he replied with a shrug, as if the answer were that simple. "I am very much in love and happy with your aunt; I always have been, and Heather, though she pretends not to be, is still very much in love with Siddhartha. We've moved on, but we can't erase the past. There will always be something there, something that no one else could understand. I'm sorry if that upsets you, and I'm sorry that this is how you found out, but I won't apologize for it. I've done enough of that for ten lifetimes."

So that was it. That was where they stood, where he drew the line in the sand. It was such a shame that they seemed to be on opposite sides of it.

"Is that all?"

"Unless you have anything to say."

Oh, Gen had a lot to say. But those things were born in anger, and the last thing she wanted was a fight. Her fire was extinguished for now, and maybe until the end of time.

"I'm not angry anymore. I don't hate you, or think ill of you, but I don't think I can ever see you the same way again. After all this and what happened with Gabbi, some kind of fundamental trust between us...that's broken now," Gen admitted, and Oncle Kaden had the good sense to hang his head, accepting the inevitable. There was just too much bad blood between them for things to go back to how they used to be. "The royal jet's on its way. I wanted to stay until Gabbi got out of surgery, and she has. We'll be out of your hair in a few hours. I don't think I'll be visiting again for a while. I've got to figure out my own shit before I can focus on processing yours."

"I understand."

There was more silence, this time cementing the rift between them. In time, it would get smaller; they would build a bridge and it would be easier to cross. But now, they needed to go their separate ways.

"Tante Finnley, she...uh, she gave me some really good advice, and I need to go follow it right now. So if you'll excuse me..."

Oncle Kaden did not put up a fight. He let her go her own way, just as he always had, and she appreciated that. Even now, despite all they'd been through, she appreciated it.

* * *

The room was dark, not a single lamp on in the place, the only source of light coming from the windows thrown wide open. The setting sun made shadows long, casting them over the young man folding clothes into a suitcase with painful slowness.

"I thought I would find you here. I'm glad you haven't left."

The man stopped his folding to face her, though it was hard to see his face from where she stood. Gen counted that as a blessing.

"Where would I go?" Arlo asked pathetically, throwing his arms to his sides. It was not an inflammatory gesture though - more of a gesture of resignation. He hung his head and shuffled his feet, gathering the strength to get the next words out. "I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"Then why did you say it?"

"Because…because I was angry, and jealous. I was afraid you were starting to... _like_ Lochan…and I was afraid that I was going to lose you."

"Why would you lose me?" Gen asked, confused. She pushed herself off the doorway and stepped into the room, the shadows engulfing her as she approached him. "Arlo, I knew what I was in for with you. You made that really clear and trust me, I would never, ever do anything you wouldn't want because I know you don't like me and - "

"Gen, please...just stop," he cut her off, exasperated and bone tired. When he turned his cheek, the light struck his profile, and Gen bit back a gasp. His blue eyes were shrouded by bags and he looked tormented for reasons Gen did not understand though she wished she could. Arlo looked like what he was about to say pained him, like he would rather do anything other than say what he did next. "Just because I'm asexual doesn't mean I can't fall in love."

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Gen found it hard to breathe.

Suddenly, everything came in to startling clarity. His weird behavior whenever she spent time with other guys, his changing the subject after Dead Poets, his outburst, punching Lochan, their fight, _everything_.

"What?"

"Just because I don't want sex doesn't mean I'm incapable of romantic feelings," Arlo explained, his voice gravelly and strained, seconds away from a breakdown. "And I like you Gen…I like you a lot more than I ever thought I would. You're funny and cool and don't give a damn about what other people think and…and completely disinterested in being with me."

"Arlo…I'm sorry…I didn't know."

"I know. It's my own fault. Leave it to me to fall in love with a lesbian," he said, letting out a mirthless chuckle. "You know, we make the punchline to one pretty fucked up joke: a gay princess and a clueless asexual walk into a ballroom…"

The attempt at humor fell flat, though it was never really on its way up in the first place. The mood was too somber, and Gen felt like her heart was made of lead. What had she done to this poor boy? He used to be so happy with his cookies and three a.m video chats. And now...no one ever wore heartbreak well, but Arlo brought a whole new meaning to the term tortured soul.

"What I've done is completely not cool, and I get it if you still want to throw me out, but I'm still here if you want a friend."

His offer was tempting. Oh, was it tempting. But it was wrong in so many ways, and Gen would not make the same mistake twice.

"You will always be my friend, Arlo," Gen started, feeling like she had to choose each word with care, and she hated it. She hated that she did this to him, that she made him feel this way, only to turn around and wreck him further. "But I think it's best for everyone if you leave. Not just for the fight, but knowing what I do now, it's not fair for me to keep you here. It wasn't fair to keep you from the beginning. All you wanted to do was go….now look at what I've done to you…"

Guilt twisted her insides even further than they already were. Gen knew she would be spending the next several years trying to untangle them, if these knots could come undone at all. She used to think that there was no mistake that could be undone. Now, she was not so sure.

Arlo only nodded, unsurprised with the outcome. He took one step forward and leaned down so that his lips brushed near her ear.

"Thank you, Gen. For everything," he whispered, his voice unbearably soft. The most surreal part was that he seemed sincere, none of the expected malice lingering in those blue eyes. Instead, they were shiny and filled with melancholy longing, and Gen briefly wondered how many sonnets he was going to write about the careless princess who made them that way. "Your secret is safe with me."

" _Merci,_ " she replied, her voice wobbling, unsure if she was capable of saying anything else.

With a kiss to her cheek, Arlo pulled away and turned his back to her, walking off towards the wardrobe to pack the rest of his things for the long trip back to Paris.

Gen took that as her cue to leave. They had nothing left to say.

She would be lying if she said she did not sob the entire way back to her room.

* * *

The sun was just starting to dip over the horizon when the jet finally touched down on the tarmac.

Everyone was in a tense mood. No one was talking. Heather and Neelam stood together, the older woman's arm tucked protectively over her daughter's shoulder. Whatever animosity Heather held towards Neelam over the Siddhartha stunt - if there was any at all - disappeared with the departure of the man. Neelam told Gen he must have left soon after the failed reunion, that it was for the best. Judging by their faces, it didn't look like that was best for any of them.

Oncle Kaden was there too but without Tante Finnley (she must have refused to leave Gabbi's side, and rightfully so) to send everyone off, as was only polite. He milled near the air trafficker, the two having an inaudible conversation over the heavy machinery.

The boys stood in silent groups, all milling about as they fiddled with luggage tags and coat buttons, handing all their possessions over to the servants who stashed them in the belly of the plane. Lochan isolated himself many meters away from everyone else, his scowl visible even from the distance. In the opposite direction, Arlo had cordoned himself off from the rest of the group, equally as upset but for a different reason. Or was it the same reason? After all, Gen had denied them both. She was the cause of their pain.

Everything would be different when she got back. The Selection would not be the same without Arlo and Lochan. More boring, that was for sure. No more midnight movie marathons or Skype calls with Blaire. _Oh Blaire_...she was going to be devastated! Somehow crushing Arlo's sister's heart was even worse than crushing his. And Lochan...Gen hoped someone somewhere someday would get through to him. She would always consider it a failure that it couldn't be her.

When the plane door finally did open, Gen expected to see the pilot or a stewardess to descend the small set of stairs. She did not expect to see her father.

"Papa...?"

"Geneviève, thank _Dieu_! I hopped on the jet as soon as I could - I've been trying to reach you for hours!" he exclaimed as he rushed down the stairs and Gen came to meet him. The boys hung back, just as surprised at the sight of their prince as Gen was.

Up close, Papa looked even more flustered than he sounded. His navy blue suit was wrinkled and there were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept at all during the ten hour flight. In fact, he looked completely on edge, a nervousness to him that Gen had never seen before, and it scared her.

"My phone died...things have been pretty crazy here," Gen explained, very confused. "What's going on? Are you here about Gabbi?"

"No?" Papa was now the one who was confused, looking from Gen to her oncle. "What happened with Gabbi?"

"She's alright now," Oncle Kaden said with far more composure than Gen thought anyone should be able to muster given that his daughter did almost die on the operating table. "What's the matter Ahren?"

Papa's attention returned to her. "Gen, I need you and the boys to come back to France immediately. It's a matter of state."

"Is everything alright?"

The Prince Consort looked around at all the expectant faces in the room, before shaking his head and letting out a long sigh. It was then Gen noticed the lines on his face that seemed to have appeared overnight, and the heaviness in his eyes. He took her hands in his and squeezed them tightly, a gesture he had not performed since she was a young girl.

Gen's stomach dropped, and she had a terrible feeling that she knew exactly why he was here. There was only one reason why he would drop everything and fly half way across the world to get her.

"Geneviève, I'm so sorry _ma chèrie_ , but your Grandmère, La Reine de la France, is dead."


	29. And the Final Rose Goes to

A/N: Sorry for the long-ass wait. My life has been exceedingly hectic these past few months as I was working on my seminar presentation which overall determined whether or not I would be allowed to graduate from my pharmacy program. I am grateful to say that I passed, and am beyond happy to have it behind me. Now all I have to do is pass all my clinical rotations...Anyway, thanks for all the continued love and support! You guys really keep me going during these dark, studious times :) and to reward y'all for your patience, I've decided to participate in NaNoWriMo with the goal of finishing this story! That means many updates this month (hopefully)! Yay! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

And the Final Rose Goes to...

Gen felt numb.

Everything was numb.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make herself speak. Couldn't make herself move. Couldn't make herself react in any human way. It unsettled Papa when he had to literally push her across the tarmac and into the awaiting jet. Neelam and Heather both shot her worried looks from across the aisle, as if waiting for her to self-destruct. The boys waited on it too, everyone oppressively quiet as they counted down the seconds until some kind of reaction.

It never came.

Gen didn't know if it would ever come.

Everything was numb.

The entire plane ride, the car ride to Versailles, the mess of staff and siblings waiting for her at the front steps waiting to dash immediately to the funeral - nothing felt real. It was like Gen had her head under water, everything murky and distant. Like she was watching a movie of her life instead of participating in it.

Her entire life was spent examined under a spotlight and yet, never had she had so much attention focused on her at one time. Never had she had so many eyes trained on her, watching her every move, keeping some kind of unspoken vigil over the broken, mourning girl. Except she was none of those things. She did not know how to be those things or feel those things. She had never been taught the concept of loss, not when she had been given anything and everything she had ever wanted her entire life.

When you were royal, everything was replaceable. You lose something, you get a new one. You break something, you get a better one. Not even Gabbi, with her heart broken from a fall down the stairs, was gone; a brand new heart beat in her chest, shiny and strong.

Nothing was ever truly gone. Until now.

Gen didn't know how to handle it.

The most unsettling thing of all was seeing her mother break down.

Camille de Sauveterre was a rock. A gentle, compassionate woman, yes, but a rock. She never wavered, never faltered, and was always the strongest person in any room. Throughout Grandmère's entire illness, she never once let herself be taken over by distress. But now, watching her mother fall into her father's arms as soon as he stepped over the threshold, Gen was beginning to realize that her mother was not as strong as she wanted her children to believe. Perhaps she had been numb this entire time as well.

Gen wanted so badly to know how to fix this, how to fix _her_. She wanted so badly to help, to comfort her mother just like all the times her mother had comforted her. But things were different now. The last time they spoke Gen was shouting at her, saying terrible things. There was a rift between them that didn't exist before, that Gen wasn't sure how to cross, if it even could be crossed. It hurt more than she wanted to admit. It hurt to know that her mother was hurting and that the presence of her oldest daughter would likely cause more bad feelings than good.

So, Gen stayed away. She remained on the opposite side of the cathedral, pulled the black cage veil on her pillbox hat down, and kept clear of her mother who didn't even hug her hello.

The twins were silent and somber, though Delphine - the picture of mourning - looked much less afflicted than Evangeline, who felt everyone's pain even if she wanted to or not. Beau was a splotchy, weepy mess curled up in a ball on the stairwell, rocking back and forth in Marcel's arms. Gen had no idea that Grandmère had meant so much to her younger brother, but apparently they were closer than she thought. Everyone had their secrets, it seemed.

The only one missing in the sea of black was Louis. He was too young to understand the implications of death, and didn't quite get why everyone was so sad. He didn't understand that the old lady who lived down the hall wasn't going to be coming back again. So, he had been left in the care of his nannies. It was for the best. Funerals were no place for children.

If the funeral was shitty, then the reading of Grandmère's will was even shittier.

It was bad enough that everyone was sniveling and crying in a large cathedral where there was plenty of space for Gen to ignore her surroundings and process things at her own speed. Shoving those same sniveling family members, half of which Gen could not currently stand to be around, an hour after the worst moment of their lives into a small meeting room bleeding with tension so thick it could suffocate alongside nosy, overly-involved counsel members was worse. So much worse. Especially because Maman wouldn't speak to her and Beau was too busy having his tenth mental breakdown of the day to be of any support.

Gen was on her own. What else was new?

She settled into the large leather seat furthest towards the back of the room, kicking off her patent leather heels and pulling off her hat and tossing it onto the table. Her hair had been pulled austerely back, bobby pins digging into her scalp. Gen extracted them one by one, piling them in front of her as her curls spilled onto her shoulders. Normally, such behavior would be berated by a gentle tap to the shoulder or a firm look.

Maman didn't even glance Gen's way. She didn't have time to care if Gen was coping, but had time to change out of her funeral dress into one of her skirt suit/dress things - a grey tweed number with matching jacket. Ridiculous.

"Settle down, settle down everyone," the mediator said, raising his hands in a placating motion.

It was, quite frankly, ridiculous that Grandmère had left a will. Most of what she owned was property of the state and the royal family as a whole. Everything she had would become Maman's, naturally, and then Gen's as soon as Maman signed the abdication paperwork. All that was left to divvy up were a couple tea trays and maybe some old ballgowns.

Gen kept her mouth shut, sitting up straight in her chair with her eyes focused somewhere over the wrinkly old man's left shoulder, begging time to accelerate so she could go back to her room and finally begin to process what was the start of the rest of her life.

"Alright, we shall begin," the mediator announced, clapping his hands together and opening the briefcase he had brought with him. A flurry of papers were spread across the mahogany table. "Ladies and Gentlemen, here in lies the final will and testament of Sa Majesté, Daphne de Sauveterre, la Reine de la France."

A long litany of titles and compensation were rung out to Grandmère's most trusted advisors. Small sums in comparison to the salaries the bastards were raking in, but definitely more than a Christmas bonus. Gen wondered if the old woman was trying to do some charity in her last hours in a last-ditch effort to seal her spot in heaven. If so, there were much more worthy causes than the one-percent.

The staff that served her in her last years were to receive full pension for the rest of their time at the palace. Her personal guards were to receive the same benefits. Even Dante got a spot in the will - his reward causing everyone in the room's jaw to drop. No one expected his name to come up, so he wasn't there to collect. Gen would have to make sure no one poached his prize before she got the chance to tell him.

"To my granddaughter Evangeline, I leave a small collection of first edition classics. Treat them with care, and pass them down in time."

A chest was pulled out from under the desk and rolled over to a waiting Vange who cracked the lid open with the utmost care. Her eyes bugged out as she ran her fingers over the old spines, awestruck.

"To my granddaughter Delphine, I leave my set of rubies. These have been passed down from de Sauveterre women for generations. Wear them with pride."

Another moderator came to Delphi's side and displayed a large jewelry box. It opened with a stiff snap, revealing an opulent set of ruby earrings, a bracelet, and necklace. There was a tiara to match somewhere. It wouldn't be a proper parure without one.

Papa, Beau, and Louis all got indiscernible amounts of money since it clearly was difficult for the old woman to have thought of something unique to get her male family members.

"To my daughter, Camille, I grant the rest of my worldly possessions. All that is mine, is now yours."

Maman nodded her head tersely, not overly impressed nor disappointed with what she was given. Not that she wanted anything except her mother alive, but she couldn't have that. Anything else would fall flat in compensation.

"Finally, to my granddaughter Geneviève, I grant my blessing to rule. May this nation rise to greatness under your guidance."

Knowing what was coming did not prepare Gen for hearing it out loud. Her heart stuttered uncomfortably in her chest, her throat tight.

She was going to be _queen_.

The mediator cleared his throat and stepped away from the center of the room, leaving a silence even more oppressive than the one before. Delphine's face was as red as her hair. She looked like she was going to explode, and Vange scooted discreetly away from the ticking time bomb.

"Counselors, thank you for your time," Maman said after a moment, standing and inclining her head to all the suits. "Would everyone please clear the room. I'd like to speak to Geneviève in private."

Everyone filed out obediently. Delphine looked like her temple was going to explode from the fact that something important was going on and she couldn't stick her upturned nose in it. Gen couldn't even savor it because she was too busy having a mild panic attack over the fact that Maman had just used her full name. That rarely ever happened, and the fact that it was being used now...well, that was terrifying.

When she was sure they were alone, Gen exhaled. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes. You are aware, no doubt, that the line of succession must be secured as soon as possible," Maman stated, and Gen nodded in agreement. "With the former queen's official seal of approval, the Council and I are moving forward with expediting the arrangements. Notre Dame should be prepared for a coronation by the week's end."

"That's good news," Gen said, leaning forward in her seat. "If that's what you wanted to tell me, why clear the room?"

"That's not all," Maman continued, her words clipped and businesslike. "You do recall the stipulation of your coronation?"

"How could I forget?" Gen replied, too much distaste in her tone to go unnoticed if her parents' frowns were anything to go by. "Don't worry. I've already narrowed down the selection pool. There's only a few left once those two leave."

"No one is going anywhere. Lochan Bellerose and Arlo Moreau are to remain at the palace until further notice," Maman instructed in a no-nonsense tone.

"But I dismissed them."

"I understand that. But I have more respect for my mother's memory than tarnishing her memorial with your Selection drama," Maman snapped. Gen flinched. She was not sure if she her mother was being purposely cruel or not, but either way that cut deep. "Speaking of which, you will have to conclude that soon if you want your inheritance."

Gen was stunned and left gaping like a fish. She was going to get whiplash from her mother's moods, she swore it.

"You _just_ said you didn't want any part of my Selection drama."

"It is about perception, Geneviève. Kicking potential love interests to the curb like stray dogs is one thing. Picking a future ruler and partner is a matter of national security," Maman said decisively, pushing her papers aside and folding her hands neatly on the table. She fixed Gen with a serious gaze. "Do you have any idea of who would make a suitable match?"

"It's been two months. I've known these boys for _two months_ ," Gen said incredulously. Was this really happening?

"Yes, and that's two months more than many other royal marriages get," her mother pointed out, not playing Gen's game. Gen was not going to finagle her way out of this one. She was stuck. "Your Papa and I think that the Travert boy would make a good match. It's obvious that he adores you. DuBois or Boniface are decent choices; they already have the public's admiration and their medical careers give them potential - nothing too attention-grabbing, but admirable and shows strength of moral character. Your Grandmère obviously seemed fond of the Sial boy as well, though I'm not sure what he's bringing to the table other than good looks and a knack for putting himself in harm's way."

Once more, Gen was left speechless. This really was happening. Holy shit.

"Are you giving me your blessing? Or is this an order from my sovereign?"

Maman let out a tense breath, her eyes briefly fluttering shut in the way they did when she tried to keep her patience in check. Gen didn't mean to be difficult. Not now. But it was just so hard to keep playing nice when everyone kept fucking with her life.

"You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to a Selection. I don't care who you pick; they're all decent choices. Just finish it, and finish it soon. By the end of the night, if possible."

Gen choked. By the end of the night? She was supposed to have a fiancé by the _end of the night_?

"You support this?" Gen asked, looking at her father imploringly, a last ditch effort to cling to any remaining sanity.

"I support _you_ , and whatever decision you may make," Papa replied. He framed her face with his hands and gently tipped her head up so he could place a kiss to her forehead. His beard was a little scratchy, but it was a comforting gesture.

Too bad it did nothing to steady her crumbling foundation.

* * *

The door opened on the second knock.

"Gen, I'm so sorry about _la reine_ ," Dante immediately apologized, always the gentle giant. "This can't be an easy time for you."

"No, not really, but I appreciate it," Gen replied, brushing off the awkward stiltedness that came with every interaction now. "Can I come in?"

Dante nodded and opened the door wider.

She pushed her way into the room and he shut the door behind her. If Dante was surprised to have a private audience, he didn't show it. Instead, his eyes followed her across the room all the way to the couch in the sitting area. He didn't sit with her, not at first, standing up and fiddling with his hands like a giant awkward duck. Gen finally sighed and patted the cushion next to her. She didn't want to do this with him so far away.

"Can't be easy for you either. You guys got pretty close there at the end."

"Yeah," Dante said and nodded, scuffing the hardwood with his shoe on his way to the couch. "Yeah we did. But it's not the same. She wasn't family."

"I believe we choose our family. And Grandmère definitely chose you. You were a better fake grandson to her than I was a granddaughter," Gen said, and though she meant to sound self-deprecating, there was too much raw guilt to brush off. It was a fact, plain and simple, that Gen was a terrible human being to her grandmère while the woman was alive. Now she'd have to live with that for the rest of her life. At least the old woman had Dante. In the end, she had one friend. "She uh, liked you a lot. Enough to leave you in her will."

Dante raised an eyebrow, taken aback.

"Really?"

"Really. She's giving you a castle."

"Ha! No seriously," Dante brushed it off as a joke, but the longer Gen stayed silent and stoic, the more Dante sobered. His face became long, his eyes wide, and for a second Gen thought he was going to pass out. "Seriously?"

Gen nodded.

"It's not just a castle. It's the land that goes with it, actually - a whole forest and the canal and a some hunting grounds. It's just outside the city, about fifty kilometers away. The royal family has held onto it for forever, but now it's yours," she said, mustering a small smile. "Congratulations. You've just become the next Marquis de Rambouillet."

"I...I don't know what to say..." Dante stuttered.

This was too much. It was obvious it was too much. It wasn't fair for Gen to overwhelm him like this, to come out of the blue and turn his life upside down. It wasn't fair for her to ask what she was going to next.

"You don't _have_ to be the Marquis de Rambouillet," Gen said and swallowed down the swarm of bees swelling in her throat. She could do this. She could say the words. "You could give that to your chachi and be _le Roi de la France_ instead."

" _L-le roi?_ "

"Well, Prince Consort technically. But yeah," Gen nodded, the swarm getting angrier, choking her up but not for any of the good proposal reasons. For the terrified, existential crisis kind of reasons.

"Are you...are you proposing to me?" Dante asked, and Gen didn't think it was possible for a middle eastern guy to be that white but somehow in that very moment he made paper look tan.

"I am. If you want it. If you want me. Can't blame you if you don't."

The _I sure as hell wouldn't_ goes unsaid. As does the litany of _please don't want me, please don't want me, you deserve better, please don't want me._

"No! It's not that. It's just - " Dante cut himself off, completely in over his head. He wasn't the only one. "Are you even in the right headspace to think about marriage? Your grandmother just _died_. You've just been dumped an entire _nation -_ "

" - both things I've known were coming for a while," Gen brushed off. Like it was nothing. Like this wasn't the single most terrifying, important decision she had to make in her entire life. "I can't rule that entire nation without someone to rule it with, and I want that someone to be you."

"We've been on one date!" he exclaimed, pulling his fingers through that long dark hair like a wild man. "We barely know each other!"

"But it was a really great date, and I'd love to keep getting to know you," Gen argued, though with not nearly the amount of passion that Dante had.

"Gen you have no idea - " Dante stopped himself, swallowed, and looked like a lost puppy. "You have _no idea_ how much I want this, but are you certain? Are you sure? B-because the last thing I want is for you to change your mind or end up hating me or - "

"I'm sure." _No I'm not._ "Absolutely positive."

Dante did not look convinced. Gen could not blame him. She wasn't doing the best job being convincing. Sighing, Gen got up from the sofa.

 _Time to put on the A-game._

"Listen, I know this is rushed, okay? I know this is a lot to take in and that this might sound crazy, but you are an absolute gem of a person - a diamond in the rough. You're kind and sweet and have the absolute best taste in sweaters. You got my Grandmère of all people to love you, and to say that woman was unlikeable was putting it nicely, and if she were here today, she'd agree." By this point in the speech, Dante had stepped further into her space, now less worried and more captivated. Gen reached out and took his hands, staring at the ridges of his tanned knuckles. "I think you can make me happy, that we could be happy together. At least, I'm willing to try. And who knows - maybe the rest will come in time."

It wouldn't, Gen already knew. But Dante didn't know that. And maybe it was cruel to let him hope, but she'd given up on hope a long time ago.

"So, what do you think? Willing to give this a shot?"

"I don't have a ring."

"That's okay," Gen huffed out a laugh. "We can go pick one out of the vault later."

"Okay," Dante agreed, dazed, his calloused thumb running over the bare skin of her left ring finger. Gen shuddered, thinking vaguely about how her hand would look with the added piece of jewelry. She normally didn't wear anything on her hands at all. It would be strange to see, an unfamiliar weight.

Dante leaned in slowly, those brown eyes holding her own blue, their foreheads brushing together, and then he kissed her - sweet and tender and all the things that should have set off a thousand butterflies in her stomach and made her knees turn into jelly. She should have swooned into his arms like the princess who had just found her Prince Charming, just like in the fairytales. Instead, she felt clammy and dizzy and altogether a wreck as the swarm of bees stung painfully at her throat.

When it was over, Dante looked dazed. Like he wasn't sure if this was a dream or not. For Gen, this was a nightmare. But what else could she do? This was her future, this was her fate. It could be so much worse than a beautiful young man who looked at her like she had hung the moon.

Gen smiled back, and hoped that one day it wouldn't be forced.


	30. Et Tu, Delphine?

A/N: Wow! This NaNoWriMo thing is going pretty well, but I don't want to jinx myself! In this chapter, Delphine gets the award for Worst Sister Ever. It may also be a little French-heavy (and angst-heavy not gonna lie); look to the end of this chapter or my Pinterest board for some translations. Hope everyone enjoys! Love you all so so much! :)

* * *

Et tu, Delphine?

The next morning at the crack of dawn, Gen gathered all her boys in the library.

She didn't tell them why or what for, just that they needed to put on something acceptable and discreetly avoid any of the main halls on their way down. The way they slammed the library doors shut made Gen think that they didn't get the meaning of the word discreet, but thankfully they followed the first instruction. Most of them managed a button-down and slacks. Ulysse's were free of paint stains. Anatole was actually wearing dark wash jeans instead of scrub bottoms. Arlo wore his trademark black, but had circles under his eyes so dark it was apparent he hadn't slept since their fight; it hurt Gen to look at him too long.

She surveyed her boys in all their sleepy glory.

Oh, how she would miss them.

Beau was there too for some reason. He crept in to the back of the room and sprawled himself over one of the leather recliners, a venti coffee mug in one hand and a pair of sunglasses in another. He looked hungover, but Gen didn't have time to worry about her brother's bad choices at the moment. She was too busy making her own.

" _Votre Altesse,_ " Lochan simpered with all the sweetness of a barracuda. Of course he would be the only one who managed to look flawless in a three-piece suit at this hour. Flawless, but still an ass. "Please explain to me why I am stuck in this hellscape instead of on a first class flight back home."

"Believe me, I wish you were."

Maybe that was rude of Gen. Maybe she should have been a little kinder to someone who could go around and smear her name into the mud. But Gen just didn't have it in her to be nice to such an asshole anymore, especially since she didn't have to convince her parents that they had a future together.

"Don't tell me you have changed your mind." His fake smile shifted into something sharp and unfriendly. "I am afraid my pride will not stand for more wounding."

"Your pride will be just fine," Gen replied and stretched an equally insincere smile over her lips. "I haven't changed my mind. I just wanted to relay some news to everyone at once."

Her eyes darted back to the group of guys, a nonverbal cue for Lochan to return to his place in the crowd. Everyone exchanged confused glances. Seb looked concerned, as did Lucas Aubry, bless their worried souls. Beau pulled himself out of his stupor and cocked his head in her direction.

"I called you all here to tell you that the Selection is officially over. You deserved to hear the news from me, not from some reporter, and I didn't want it blindside you. It's a jungle out there."

For a moment, no one reacted. The news came way out left field. It took a second to process, and when it did, everyone had something to say.

"Is everything alright?"

"What the hell, Gen?"

"Who's the winner?"

There were so many that she couldn't pick the voices apart. However, one protest stood out above the rest.

"Hey man, give us a little credit," Hugo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "We get that you're upset about _la reine._ A hundred percent get it. But we can wait this out and give you space until your ready to move forward. You don't have to cut us loose."

"I know that, Hugo. You are - " Gen glanced over at Lochan who was busy polishing his damn ruby cufflinks instead of paying attention - "for the most part, an incredible bunch. But I'm not giving up on you. I, uh, actually...I made my choice."

More confused glances were exchanged. Beau legitimately choked on his coffee so hard that Anatole had to thump him on the back and make sure he didn't aspirate any.

"Well...don't leave us hanging," Lucas Travert prodded gently, his smile overly-wide and alarming. He was clearly trying to hold his nerves back by overcompensating on the enthusiasm.

"Last night I asked Dante to marry me, and he said yes."

It just so happened that Dante was the only guy who was missing. That wasn't a coincidence. After the awkward proposal, Gen had suggested that he sleep in and skip the morning meeting she had called right before she popped the question. She didn't want there to be any animosity between the guys. It wasn't Dante's fault that he got picked; he was just as much a victim as the rest of them.

The silence was so overbearing it hurt.

She didn't know what to say to make this better, what excuse she could give for picking one amazing guy over a whole slew of other amazing guys. They were all winners. She wished she could keep them all there forever. But that didn't work so well the last time, and speaking of, Arlo looked so upset, not for himself but for her and _fuck_ she did _not_ need that kind of emotion right now.

"You, uh, you're all required to stay through the announcement, but if you wanna go after that, I get it. There's no rush. I'm not gonna shove you out the front door or anything. Maman just doesn't want a big commotion," Gen continued uneasily, having a hard time reading so many tense faces. "These few months have been great. I've had such a wonderful time getting to know you, and I hope you have all enjoyed your stay at Versailles. You have my number, you know where I live. You're pretty much family now, so stop by anytime. I know Louis would love a Nerf war rematch."

That got chuckles out of a few of them, but the humor was short lived.

The guys filed out of the library shortly after, not wanting to suffer through more stilted, uncomfortable silence with the woman who rejected their affection. Most of them didn't say anything to Gen. In fact, most of them looked hurt, pissed off even though they did their best to hide it. They were justified in that though; it was a shitty thing to spring on them before eight in the morning. Especially when not moments before they all thought that they stood a chance. Blindsided didn't even begin to cover it.

Gen followed everyone out into the hallway and Beau came striding over, determination in his step. He didn't even bother to smile or crack a joke when they were finally face to face.

"Hey, can we talk for a sec?"

"Now's not really a good time..."

There was still so much left to do, so many last minute details. Staff were running around everywhere, Maman was still talking to the guards, and the press was waiting for them inside the hall at any moment. Gen didn't know when or where she would be pulled next - all this chaos over one measly announcement. One measly announcement that would change the course of the country.

"It's important."

She believed him. Maybe it was the manic gleam in his eye. Maybe it was because she'd never heard him sound more serious in her entire life.

"Yeah...okay. Just, really quick."

Beau nodded rapidly, pacing back and forth where he stood. He looked anxious, like something was weighing down on him. Gen knew that he hadn't been having the best go at life recently, but even though she wanted to help her brother, this was hardly the time for her to play therapist.

He steepled his fingers under his chin and exhaled. "In exchange for my help with this Selection you offered me an IOU, absolutely anything I want."

"I remember," Gen sighed, rolling her eyes. "Not that you did anything to earn it, but I remember."

"Well, I'm cashing it in," Beau announced, finally getting Gen to take him seriously. "Don't marry Dante."

The words were like a slap in the face. Gen felt her heart stop. She had to take a step back.

" _Excuse-moi_?" Gen hissed, pulling Beau into a nearby corridor so they would not be overheard.

"You can't - " Beau cut himself off, catching his breath. He seemed positively flustered. "You can't go through with this Gen, okay? It was one thing when this was all a joke and we were going to flirt them out of the palace, but now? You can't _actually_ get married to one of these guys. You're a _gay woman_ for _Dieu's_ sake!"

"I don't have a choice - "

"Bullshit. You always have a choice!" Beau refuted, throwing his arms out to the side, as if this decision somehow affected him. "There is always another way! Just call it off. Say you were drunk out of your mind, that you made a mistake. Talk to Maman; she's regent now, so have her change the law. It's not that hard."

" _Just change the law_ ," Gen mimicked Beau, anger rising in her veins. "You say that like it's easy, like she can snap her fingers and change something that has been in place for _centuries._ "

"You're making excuses!" Beau fired back. "You're just too afraid to try!"

"You wouldn't understand! You're not the heir. You've always had the freedom to do what you want or be with whomever you want - even when you came out! It's not like that for me. I have to marry Dante and have royal babies. It's the only way I can be queen!"

"And what about your happiness? Are you really willing to be miserable for the rest of your life for a stupid title?"

"Life with Dante would hardly be miserable."

"Maybe not now, but over time? When the lack of intimacy makes him resent you and the very thought of being in bed with him makes you sick?"

"Stop! Okay, just stop!" Gen shouted, forgetting for a moment that they were having a private conversation. She stepped closer to Beau and reached out to cup his face. He had started crying in the meantime. All he did now was cry. "I hear you. I _really_ do. There is nothing I want more than to sit on that throne on my own and rule on my own terms, but I can't. _I can't_. And I love you _so, so much_ for wanting to fight that for me. But you need to hear me when I say to stand down and let me do this."

"Gen - "

"No, no more of that," Gen instructed, using her thumbs to wipe away Beau's tears. Then she pulled away and sniffled back her own runny nose and blinked her own bleary eyes. "I'm a big girl. I can make my own decisions. Now come on, pull yourself together. Maman is going to be wondering where we ran off to."

"She probably thinks I'm hooking up with someone in a closet again," Beau muttered bitterly, adjusting his tie from where he had clawed at it like a wild man. He had dressed much more subdued today in solid blues and warm brown tones.

"Probably," Gen tried to joke, sniffling a little. "But hey, you finally get what you wanted. My boys - they're all yours."

"As if I would actually want your sloppy seconds," Beau scoffed and rolled his eyes, but there was no mistaking how choked up he sounded and how watery those eyes were. "Please, Gen...don't do this. You deserve to be happy."

"I will be," she said, willing the words to be true. "Things won't be all bad, you'll see. I'll still have Maman, Papa, Louis, Vange, you - "

"Delphi."

"Yeah I guess Delphi too but - "

"No, Gen," Beau, suddenly sheet white and slightly nauseous, placed a shaking hand on her shoulder and spun her around. " _Delphi_."

And there, at the end of the hall, stood the Devil herself - a vision of scarlet hair and sinister red lips turned up in a smile like the cat who ate the canary. That could only be the smirk of someone who had just gained the upper hand.

That was the look of someone who had just learned a secret that could destroy everything Gen had ever worked for.

 _Merde._

Then Delphi was moving away as fast as her polished kitten heels would carry her.

 _Double merde._

"Beau, w-what do I -?"

"Run!"

They both broke out into a sprint. It really should not have been hard to find Delphi, not when the younger girl was staunchly against running indoors and was wearing the equivalent of a gauzy cape overtop of her baby's breath-colored dress. But there were so many people - from the press to the staff to the guards trying to herd everyone inside the hall as efficiently as possible - Delphine must have gotten caught up in the masses.

"She's gone," Gen huffed and bent over at the knees, unable to catch her breath. "Fuck."

Beau was just as breathless, just as livid. "Where did she go?"

"Geneviève?" she heard her name called in that familiar, maternal voice.

It was time.

"Fuck!"

This could not be happening. This could not be happening. This could not -

"Gen. Gen, look at me. You need to breathe. Okay? Breathe," Beau instructed, and oh how quickly roles had reversed. Gen forced herself to look Beau in the eye, fighting back the swell of panic and tears. She hadn't even noticed she was hyperventilating. "You are going to pull yourself together and walk in that room like everything is fine."

 _Nothing about this is fine!_ Gen wanted to snap, but this wasn't Beau's fault. He was only trying to help.

"What happened to calling things off?" Gen gasped wryly, desperately trying to follow Beau's instructions but _fuck_ it was so _hard_.

"Yeah, well that was before shit went sideways." Beau pulled back and started patting down Gen's fly-aways and smoothing out the wrinkles in her red lace sleeves. "We'll deal with one mess at a time. An engagement can be broken, but an outing is forever."

"You don't think - "

Gen stopped herself. Of course he thought. They both thought. It was the only logical next step Delphine could make to steal the one thing she'd always wanted.

"There you are! What are you two doing back here?" Maman asked, her eyes wide and searching. She must have grown a dozen grey hairs overnight, her usual coif a little silver where it tucked behind her ears and pinned into her hat. "It's time to go."

She appraised Gen's look, and if she thought that her eldest daughter looked frazzled, she didn't say a word. Maman was used to seeing her daughter as a mess. Why would today be anything different?

"Yeah, Beau was just..." Gen trailed off, unable to find a good excuse.

"...I was telling Gen how proud I was of her."

Gen's heart twisted in her chest. She shot Beau a look but his eyes remain focused on Maman.

"Oh, how sweet," Maman replied gently, the first soft gesture she'd made in Gen's vicinity in a while. "There will be plenty of time for congratulations after the press leave. _Chérie_?"

Maman gestured for Gen to follow into the lion's den, ruining any last-ditch efforts for Gen to run away and start a new life in Portugal. She shot a desperate look to Beau, who remained a few steps behind for moral support.

"I have to be honest with you, Gen. I didn't think you were going to pull through," Maman said right before they got to the entrance. She stopped just short of the guards and looked up to Gen, the first hint of a smile on her rouged lips. "I know it wasn't easy on you, that _I_ haven't been easy on you, but you've proved everyone wrong. You committed, and I am so proud of you."

Gen didn't know what to say, so she swallowed down the panic, smiled, and nodded. It was what Maman wanted anyway.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she walked side by side with Maman into the press-filled hall. The podium was close, Henri waiting to help her at the bottom of the step. It stood alongside a pedestal that held a ceremonial tiara upon a red velvet cushion. All she had to do was take a few steps and she was there. Easy. What wasn't easy was raising her head to meet a sea of cameras and microphones. Every journal and tabloid worth their salt was there, ready to pounce on the next big scoop.

The Selected - or former Selected - sat in the front row, their faces the only discernible ones. And then there was Dante at the very end of the row, beaming like the equivalent of human sunshine. Gen had to look away.

Maman and Papa stood behind her off to the side, Beau and Evangeline on the opposite side. Evangeline looked just as miserable as Gen did. It was only until Gen saw the redhead staring longingly in Lucas Aubry's direction that Gen realized that she was about to send her sister's closest thing to love home. Damn, she couldn't do anything right today.

"Does anyone know where your sister went?" Gen heard Maman lean over and ask Beau. He shook his head and Maman pursed her lips. Gen felt like she was going to lose the lunch she hadn't eaten.

Gen could see Beau out of the corner of her eye, his own eyes scouring the crowd for Delphine. She wished she could shut this production down until the girl was found, but there was only so long she could remain silent before Maman cleared her throat and shot a look that said, 'get this show on the road'. _Dieu-_ willing, Delphine would stay away long enough to get this over with.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Thank you all for gathering here today. I wish we could be here under more joyous circumstances, but the death of my beloved grandmother, and your beloved ruler, Daphne de Sauveterre, _La Reine de la France_ , has left a hole in the French government that needs to be filled," Gen said, grateful that some force in the universe was keeping her from tripping over her speech. "Acting upon her final wish, I, Geneviève Amelie Eadlyn Schreave de Sauveterre, Princess Royale, intend to assume the throne upon the abdication of my mother and heir, Her Royal Highness Princess Camille de Sauveterre."

Polite applause and camera shudders sealed the moment. The tiara felt heavy as it was placed on Gen's head, the layers jewels adding much more weight than the simple band of cameos she was used to wearing. It felt royal, regal, like the future.

"Without further ado, I would like to announce my enga- "

Before Gen could even get the word out, the doors slammed open and a dramatic voice rang out:

" _Arrêtez!_ "

Everyone turned around to see Delphine standing there in all her glory. She looked positively radiant, high even. Gen had never seen her smile that wide.

This could not be good.

"Delphine, what are you doing?" Maman demanded, her voice low as she rushed to intercept the redhead on her journey to take the podium. "You are making a scene."

For a split second, Delphine hesitated, and Gen had hope. Maybe Maman would scare Delphine into silence. Maybe she would set Delphine in her place long enough to hash this out in a private room. Maybe this didn't have to turn into a spectacle.

Of course, a spectacle was what was had.

"I am stopping this country from making a terrible mistake," she announced like she was some kind of savior, like everyone should get on their hands and knees and thank her. She plucked the microphone from the stand and went to address the crowd, flipping her hair over her shoulder so that the cameras could photograph her better. "I must apologize to you, ladies and gentlemen of the press, not for my unannounced interruption, but because someone in the royal family is telling you lies, and has been for a very long time. In fact, she's on this very stage. Geneviève, would you care to step forward?"

Delphine extended her hand to Gen like she wanted to hold hands and sing Kumbaya. Gen wanted to cut it off. Maman and Papa looked at Gen imploringly, searching for some reason for the madness. Beau looked like he was seconds away from a fight, like he wanted to physically place himself in front of Gen to keep her from standing next to that snake.

"You are putting on quite a show, Delphi," Gen injected so much fake ease into her tone that it was almost convincing.

Delphine only cocked her head and smirked. "You are one to talk, sister. From what I've discovered, you have been putting on a show for years."

"I don't know what you're talking about, and this is hardly the time nor the place."

"This may be the only chance I have, the last chance to prevent a national disaster," Delphine replied with false earnest, one hand covering her heart. _Like she even cared about national disasters._ "This engagement, this whole Selection in fact, is a sham, is it not? All to cover up the fact that you're gay."

Laid so bluntly, Gen was unable to stop the look of pure shock from crossing over her face - over _everyone's_ face. No one knew what to do with such a jarring, powerful statement. So everyone waited, and watched. Delphine was more than willing to be patient, waiting for Gen to collect herself, for her face to go from shock to panic to absolute fury.

" _Ta gueule_ ," Gen hissed, a vulgar and feral sound that had all the nearby ears gasping. Gen didn't give a fuck. She felt too exposed, too raw, like she was being flayed alive.

Delphine was loving it.

"And is it not mandated by law that the throne be passed down to a member of the royal family that is willing and able to provide an heir, and that a failure to meet these requirements is grounds for removal in the line of succession?"

"Geneviève, what is the meaning of this?" Maman demanded, now angry at her as well.

Gen couldn't deal with her mother right now. She could only deal with one life-ruining family member at a time.

"Why are you doing this?" Gen all but whispered, lacking the strength she so desperately needed. But her knees felt like jelly and there was a fine tremor running down her arms and legs that left her on unsteady ground. "What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?"

" _C'est vrai_?" Delphine pressed, eyes narrowed and lips pursed with vicious vindication.

Gen could feel the hatred and the contempt rolling off of Delphine's shoulders like a poison, sucking away at Gen's soul. It was exhausting, fighting this battle, the same battle they'd been having for years. Gen had tried and tried again to understand why. When she couldn't she tried so hard to stay away. And while Gen was harboring secrets Delphine was harboring resentment, both of their hoards growing and growing and growing, all leading up to this one moment.

It would be so easy to lie.

It would be so easy to ruin Delphine's credibility, to slander her character and say that every word out her younger sister's mouth was a vain, jealous attempt for the throne, that the girl was always reaching for what she couldn't have. That last part wouldn't be a lie, at least. And the media would believe Gen. They were her army, and if they had to choose between the two princesses they would pick Gen every time. They always believed Gen, because Gen was beloved. And she wasn't beloved because she was perfect - _Dieu_ knew she was far from perfect - but because Gen always did right by her people. Because, yes, Gen fucked up but she always made sure she righted those fuck ups in the end. It was Delphine who was the shady bitch, not Gen. Gen was honest to the point it hurt...on every front except the one that mattered most.

So there they stood, two sisters face to face across the podium, locked in a battle to the death.

Delphine was serrated words and razor sharp teeth ready to rip out the jugular...and Gen was so tired of fighting.

Gen was so tired of this petty bullshit, of this rivalry that had haunted her for so long, of this feud that was slowly tearing her family apart. So tired of this crushing weight on her chest. So tired of holding her breath, waiting for a bomb to drop, for the skeletons to be found. So tired of the panic that made sleep impossible because she was too busy waking from nightmares of crippling rejection. So tired of the demons that crawled into her mind and told her that she would never be good enough unless she changed the fundamental building blocks of her nature.

So tired of the lies.

Enough was enough.

Inhale. Exhale.

" _C'est vrai._ I am gay," Gen said, the words like lead falling off her tongue, dragging her down down down to her demise. "And, recognizing as much, I hereby...I hereby renounce my claim to the throne."

There were tears building in her eyes as she removed the tiara from her head, salty liquid pooling in the corners, but she didn't let them fall. Not for the whole world to see. Not for Delphine's satisfaction. But it was so, so hard to keep it together when her future was ending before her very eyes.

The strangest thing was, that even though she was devastated, she couldn't help but feel relieved. A thrill ran down her spine as she realized she had given up her greatest secret, and her fingers trembled as she traced the wrought white gold loops of the tiara and ran her fingers over the diamonds. They were smooth and cold to the touch, beautiful and yet, suddenly out of reach.

She placed it back on the pillow.

"I'm sorry."

Barely a whisper, but out of all the words that had been wrenched from her lips, those were the hardest to say. It was easy to admit she had failed herself, that she had failed her family, failed her grandmother. But it was another thing entirely to admit that she had failed her people. She had failed them. Now, she would never be queen, and even if she could, she wouldn't be the queen they wanted.

There was a roar of questions, a sea of flashing lights, but Gen registered none of it. Her vision had tunneled to the side exit, her body squeezing and pushing through the cracks to make it to safety. Henri was on her in an instant, shielding her from everyone trying to invade her space, including her family. His arms were a safety net, but they were also a cage, one she burst from as soon as she was back out in the hall and panting against the wall.

She was vaguely aware that the tunnel vision hadn't stopped. Except now the room was spinning, and she was clinging onto one square of the carpet.

All that time, all those years, all those sacrifices, for nothing.

 _Un coup d'épée dans l'eau._

The doors opened and someone else came out. Someone familiar and anguished.

Gen managed to wobble over and grasp his hand. "Dante, I'm so sorry, I can explain."

Her former fiancé snatched his hand away as if he had been burned and sidestepped her. It hurt more than a slap to the face. He couldn't even look at her, and might as well have stated his hatred of her on a neon sign.

"Dante..." Gen called at his backside, but he kept walking. "Dante talk to me, please!"

He didn't turn around. If anything, he walked away faster.

She barely had time to process that rejection before another storm barreled her way. This one in the form of one very well dressed, pissed off model.

"What the fuck Gen! You were lying, this whole time, was it all a joke to you? How could you?" Merlin lashed out, tears stinging at those baby blues. He was the first one out of the gate, the rest of the guys silently backing him up as they created a semi-circle around him. Henri was close by, tense and ready to intervene. Gen hoped it wouldn't come to that. "I trusted you! I told you things...really difficult things...that I never told anyone else. And what? You were collecting our secrets while you sat on yours?"

"Merlin, it wasn't like that," Gen tried, but he wouldn't listen.

"Then what was it like?"

Everyone was waiting expectantly, nearly two dozen eyes staring her down with more contempt than Delphine and Maman combined.

"I just..." the words were thick in her throat, her own tears drowning out everything else. "I was so scared..."

"So was I! We all were! We all put our hearts on the line, and you played us for fools!" Merlin shouted, not giving her a single inch, before storming off.

"All the nice things you did...all of that stuff you said about being family...was that lies as well?" Lucas Travert asked, unable to mask the tremor in his voice and in his hands. He looked on the verge of tears.

"Of course not...I meant-I really meant it."

He didn't look convinced. And if that didn't hurt enough, it was Anatole who landed the final blow.

"We could have dealt with the fact that you were gay, Gen. It's not a big deal. But we uprooted our lives for you. You pulled us from our homes, from our jobs, from our families, and strung us along. You let us believe that we could have a future with you, and that was cruel."

Anatole was right. He was completely right, and Gen had no defense.

He walked away, and mostly everyone else followed - a line of angry, upset faces that put their mood from the library earlier to shame. Even the joyful Lucas Travert and easygoing Ulysse weren't in the mood to crack a smile, and shit if it wasn't even more upsetting to know that she made two of the kindest people she knew cold.

"Gen..." Arlo reached for Gen, a hesitant hand that she batted away.

"Gen, it's alright," Seb tried, but she pushed him away as well.

It was not alright. She was not alright. Nothing was ever going to be alright.

The reporters were being let out of the hall now, a wave pouring through the palace, sent to flush her out. She couldn't be there where they could find her. Not with her hair in knots and her makeup streaked across her bloodshot eyes, down her running nose and beet red cheeks. Not looking like the epitome of a disgrace.

She turned to run but was caught by strong arms and a stern face.

"Please, let me go," Gen begged, trying to squirm out of Henri's grip. The cameras and the voices were so close, so so close, and she was running out of time.

Henri looked so conflicted, just like he had all the times before when she had asked for lenience, torn between his duty to serve and protect, and his urge to help a friend. In his eyes, Gen could see the sympathy brewing, the gears turning, the friend winning. She felt his fingers relax and then she flew.

" _Votre Altesse!_ "

Gen heard Henri shout her title down the hall three more times before he gave up. Gen knew that he could chase her if he wanted, that she was no match for his speed. He was letting her go.

He gave an inch. She would take as many miles as it took to get far, far away from this nightmare.

* * *

 _French Dictionary:_

 _Arrêtez! = Stop!_

 _C'est vrai? Oui, c'est vrai = Is it true? Yes, it's true_

 _Ta gueule = shut the fuck up_

 _Un coup d'épée dans l'eau = a wasted effort (french idiom)_


	31. Go on a Road Trip, They Said

A/N: I don't think I'm gonna make my NaNo goal of finishing the story this month, but I at least I managed to get out three chapters, and it's the effort that counts...right? Anyway, to make up for the last chapter, this one is pretty much just fluff. Cute, emo (super gay) fluff. Gen deserves it after what she's been through. This was a really personal chapter to write - I'm finding that out about a lot of this story actually - because some of Gen's experiences are ones that I've had with my own family. In a lot of ways, writing this story is sort of like therapy.

I tried super hard to not make Neelam a stereotypical manic pixie dream girl, but that's part of her character so a little bit bleeds through. I just hope that she doesn't make this situation too terribly unbelievable (though to be 100% honest this entire chapter reads like a Hallmark movie)

It's kind of a long chapter. In the end, there was too much going on that I thought was important, so very little got cut. I hope it doesn't drag and you all enjoy! Thank you so much for all your kind words and support! You are truly the best readers, and to those who celebrate, I hope you had a very Happy Thanksgiving :) I'm forever and always grateful to all of you.

* * *

Go on a Road Trip, They Said

Le Petit Trianon was Grandmère's favorite place.

For many years - the good years - the matriarch would move to this chateau during the summer months. It was the only version of a vacation a sole monarch could have, but the family made the most out of every second. Gen had so many good childhood memories in the gardens, rolling down the green hills, splashing in the lake, and playing gods and monsters on the steps of the Temple of Love.

Le Petit Trianon was a safe space, which was why Gen picked it as her hiding hole.

It was near midnight when Gen crashed through the front door. No one was there, thank _Dieu_ , so she didn't have to worry about waking anyone. So she screamed and cried and threw things until nearly every surface was overturned and her arms were too tired to continue the carnage. There was a portrait of Marie Antoinette, the chateau's original owner, hung in the main foyer. The first thing Gen had done when she burst through the door was punch a hole straight through that bitch's smug face. Fuck her and her selfishness. Gen never wanted to see that woman, or hear her name, again. The national curators could scold Gen later for destroying a priceless antique.

Add it to the growing list of reasons why people hated her.

Gen wasn't used to people hating her. It was a terrible feeling, one that left a gnawing pit in her stomach. People were supposed to love her, cherish her, support her, and kneel before her. Life felt pointless now that that was all gone. What was her purpose if she could not be queen? Her entire life she had been groomed to take the throne. Years of training, studying, and hard work - gone in an instant. All because her younger sister had a raging hard on for the throne.

Let people think what they wanted. If the papers said terrible things about her after what happened with Gabbi, Gen could only imagine what a field day they were having now. The terrible names, the degrading headlines, the nasty rumors. Everyone could go to hell.

She couldn't even muster up the energy to hate Delphine. It was too much emotion, and too much of Gen's energy was going towards mourning the life she could have had - that she was _so close_ to having. The rest of her energy was put towards clearing out the chateau's liquor cabinet, an act she was performing at a record pace. She was going on nearly two days of steady binging and had yet to lose hold of her senses. Sure, the room was spinning and all the lights were off so that her brain didn't bust out of her skull, but Gen was alive. Unfortunately.

All Gen wanted to do now was drink, sleep, and live out the rest of her days alone curled up on the floor in her misery fort of blankets and sofa cushions.

Of course, because the universe was conspiring against her and decided that she had not suffered enough, someone came wandering into her hiding hole.

Thick heels clunked against the floor; Gen could feel the vibrations through her skull. They weren't helping the spinning. Though that could have been the rush of blood to the head that followed her speedy sit-up.

As soon as Gen saw who it was, she groaned and lied back down.

"Cognac? At this hour?" Neelam asked, judging the shit out of Gen - which was rich coming from someone who was wearing head to toe black leather save for an enormous pink tutu - but Gen was too far gone to care. From the cocoon of her misery forts, she couldn't tell the time, which made justifying her binging easier.

"What can I say? Grandmère had a taste for the good stuff."

"Is this what you've been doing this whole time? Drinking and crying on the floor?" Neelam continued as she made her way further into the room, kicking at the overturned sofa cushions. "You're a whole mess."

Then Neelam went and pulled the curtains open, bright light spilling into the cavernous space. Gen hissed and turned away, the light nearly blinding her.

"Fuck off!" If Gen thought she could physically fight Neelam off, she would have. Instead, she settled for glowering at the younger girl from the floor. It was a lot harder to look intimidating when everything was upside down. "How did you find me?"

It wasn't like Le Petit Trianon was on the way to somewhere. It was tucked away about two miles off the beaten path. Gen had never had to run so far in her life, and was surprised that she had made it there without having a heart attack. The only way Neelam got there was if she meant to.

"Beau said you liked to come here sometimes. Plus, I saw you walking around through the window."

"So they know I'm here, but they're just choosing to ignore me. Great."

"From what it looks like, you're the one ignoring them. But hey, it's your pity party," Neelam sighed and raised her hands in surrender. She walked over to a couch and perched on the arm. "At least out here you're far away from the Delphine Show."

"Spare me," Gen grumbled, raising the bottle to her lips only to find out it was empty. Damn it all.

"Did you know she demanded a custom gown be made? Ten foot long train, gold leaf inlays, the whole she-bang. The seamstresses have been cursing her out since yesterday morning."

"Them and me both."

"She's going to make a terrible queen," Neelam said flippantly, her nose wrinkling. "It's going to be awful hard for her to sit on that throne with that stick shoved so far up her rear."

If it were any other day, Gen would have laughed. How many times had she had Beau made similar jokes? Now, the very thought of Delphine on her throne just hurt.

"Can we stop talking about it, please?"

Gen wanted to sound mean, but all she sounded was pathetic. She wanted to snap and be angry and brittle and heartless. She wanted to tell Neelam to fuck off and never bother her again. But she couldn't do those things, because that wasn't her. She was never the raging type. She was always the moping type, the broken type, the run away and get piss ass drunk and sad type.

That wasn't the kind of queen France needed either.

"Your former Selected are still here."

"Why?" Gen asked, surprised. She figured after that debacle of a press conference that they would have been on the first trains out of the city. "I thought they hated me."

"I can't comment, but I think it has something to do with the fact that they want answers," Neelam replied, cocking her head thoughtfully to the side. "To be totally honest, I want some answers as well. I thought we were close, you know, on that level where we told each other important personal things like my insecurities about my parent's divorce and you wanting to sex up girls."

"I don't have any answers. Not ones that anyone wants, anyway," Gen grumbled, dejection settling back in. "You should tell them to go."

"They're big boys. They can make their own decisions."

Neelam walked away, and for a blessed second, Gen thought that she had left. Unfortunately, Dieu was not so kind, as Neelam returned a few moments later. She extended a glass to Gen, which was pretty hard to grasp from lying down.

"Here, sit up and drink this."

Gen groaned and obeyed, taking the cool glass from the other girl's hands. "What is it?"

She didn't wait for the answer before taking a sip - it could have been poison for all she knew; it sure as hell tasted like it - and spluttered when too much went down the wrong pipe.

"Water," Neelam sighed and rolled her eyes at Gen's mess. "I don't think your body's seen any in the last forty-eight hours."

Gen glared at Neelam and took another, much more coordinated sip. It wasn't as good as the cognac or the wine or the brandy, but it made the throbbing in her head a little less intense.

"You probably need a snack too. Some carbs to soak up all that alcohol. You love carbs."

Gen glared at Neelam even harder. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I know. Good thing I'm not one," Neelam replied cheerily, clapping her hands together. "Now, come on. First, we're gonna sober you up, and then we're gonna cheer you up!"

"Neelam, I'm really not in the mood - "

"I don't give a flying fig about what you're in the mood for. You're getting off your tired, mopey butt and doing something that doesn't involve killing off all your liver cells by the time you're thirty."

"Shame, and I was doing such a good job of that."

"Ha ha, you're hilarious," Neelam deadpanned, snatching away the empty bottle Gen kept bringing to her lips in hopes of the liquor magically refilling itself. She dangled it in front of Gen's nose like one would a carrot to a rabbit. "Up, up, up!"

Damn her weak will, Gen obeyed.

A few hours to recuperate and one cold shower later, Gen was bundling herself up in some old jeans, Dante's sweater, and an oversized sweatshirt. She debated taking the sweater off, but for some reason Neelam had chosen that particular piece of clothing to bring over, and the masochist in Gen liked the guilt it brought her. Dante was so nice, so kind, so overjoyed to spend the rest of his life with Gen. Dante was pure. Gen ruined that, or at least she hoped she hadn't ruined that. Dante deserved only the best in life. If he took his castle and never spoke to her again, it would serve her right. That didn't mean she wouldn't continue to wear his sweater, smell his particular blend of spice and sweet, and feel regret.

There was a standard issue black SUV parked in the gravel drive, a single person leaning up against it. It was hard to see who is was - one of the downsides about running away to the woods was the complete lack of streetlights - but Gen had a good idea.

"Henri...?" Gen asked, stepping closer so she could get a better look at the man.

" _Oui, Votre Altesse?_ "

He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black wool long coat, a scarf wrapped around his neck and a hat on his head. He must have been completely miserable waiting out in this cold. Gen looked between him and Le Petit Trianon a few times, disbelief written all over her face. "Have you been keeping watch this entire time?"

" _Oui, Votre Altesse._ "

Gen couldn't help herself from throwing her arms around Henri and hugging him close.

 _"Merci_ ," Gen sniffled into his collar, her not-so-sobriety making her emotions much more liberal, especially the teary ones. " _Qu'est-ce que je ferais sans toi?_ "

Henri let out a soft chuckle, his arms actually wrapping around her to return the hug, even if it was for a brief moment. "Now what kind of bodyguard would I be if I let the princess get into trouble without supervision?"

Gen was going to sob all over again, but this time it would be a happy sob. It was nice to know she wasn't alone. At least she had Henri as a friend.

"Speaking of trouble..." Neelam started, her expression as bashful and giving away that she was absolutely up to no good. She stuck out her hand and Henri pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. "We should hit the road before someone notices."

"Be back before sun-up, will you?" he asked, handing over the keys with a wary look that told Gen that he was still did not approve of this outing. Neelam nodded and got in the driver's side. Gen walked around to the passenger's side, while Neelam started the ignition with ease, engine purring at the turn of the key. Henri tapped on the window, and Gen rolled it down so he could say, "And please try to keep the car in one piece."

He was, quite possibly, the worst bodyguard ever. But he was the best friend Gen could ask for in this moment. She was glad to have him by her side, even though she didn't deserve his loyalty.

"Thank you, again."

"For what?" he asked, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. "For all intents and purposes, this exchange never even happened."

Henri walked away, his all-black ensemble blending in the with the night, and Gen rolled the window back up.

Once both of them were buckled up, Neelam flashed the lights and they pulled down the drive. It wasn't until after they got past the gates without issue that Gen decided to figure out what the game plan was.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"You've surprised me enough for one night."

"You'll see soon enough. Just be patient - it's a virtue."

That was all Neelam would give her. As loose-lipped as the younger girl was on any other given day, she chose this moment to be as secure as a Swiss bank account.

They drove in silence - save for the smooth jazz station (seriously Neelam?) playing quietly in the background. Gen leaned her forehead up against the window, her breath making fog on the glass. She dragged her fingers through it, making fun shapes and faces. Henri was going to glare at her for it when they got back, but that was later. Now, it was a good distraction from the current insanity. Such a good distraction, actually, that Gen didn't even process where they were until the car was parallel parked up against a curb and a giant steel structure laid waiting in the distance.

 _La Tour Eiffel._

"Are you serious?" Gen stared up at the enormous monument and all the people who crawled about it like ants. "Out of all the places in Paris, you pick the biggest tourist attraction? There are thousands of people here! Someone is going to figure us out."

This was a mistake. This was a terrible idea. Why had she come along in the first place? Why did she agree to Neelam's demands? She should have just stayed in her misery fort.

"Cool your jets and put these on." Neelam tossed Gen a pair of oversized sunglasses and a baseball cap.

"Oh yes, because this is such as foolproof disguise," Gen snarked, but still put them on. The glasses fell off the bridge of her nose and the hat was a smidge too tight, but it worked well enough. "I just look like myself at a football match."

Neelam stomped her feet in the crunchy, frost-covered grass - a little petulant and a little excited all at once. "Live a little!"

This was still a terrible idea. Gen felt overexposed and every step she took towards the growing crowd at the base of the tower felt like a step towards a shark tank. But there was no denying the little thrill that ran up her spine as Neelam worked her magic and somehow finagled them into the next group that went up in the elevator. No one had seemed to pick up on them yet - Gen attributed it to her looking like a hobo - but Neelam was gaining attention from the sheer volume of her skirt. It was massive, and Gen was sure she had at least two small children hiding in the fluff from how tight they were packed in the elevator.

Vertigo did wonders on Gen's hangover, but soon enough the metal cage let them out at the top, everyone scattering along the balcony. The air was crisper and cooler up there. Gen had to pull the strings on her sweatshirt tighter around her chin to keep the breeze out. She wished she had brought a scarf. Thankfully her pockets were deep enough to warm her hands.

They picked a relatively unpopulated segment to stop at, the both of them leaning against the railing angled in at each other. The city really was beautiful from up here: a million golden lights illuminating the night as far as Gen could see - the headlights of cars streaking by in waves, billboards flashing and changing by the minute. The only thing that would make it better was if there were stars out. Then there would be light coming in from all directions.

Gen was so caught up in the view that she didn't notice Neelam was staring not at the city, but at her.

"What?"

"You're smiling."

"I didn't realize it was illegal to smile."

"Stop being difficult," Neelam sighed, shoving Gen lightly on the shoulder. "It's just nice. Even when you smiled before, it wasn't very genuine. It was like you were forcing yourself to be happy."

"Maybe I was. I don't know," Gen shrugged, and it was depressing how much that could be true. "But I don't feel happy now."

"What are you feeling?"

"I'm thinking that this is the most incredible view in the entire city, _my city_. Except it isn't my city anymore. It's Delphine's city. And that...that makes me want to burn it all to the ground."

"Would that make you happy?"

"No. It wouldn't," Gen sighed and turned away from the city that only made her sad. "The only thing that would make me happy is going back to a time when none of these problems existed."

"So...when you were baby."

At that, Gen actually let out a single, tired laugh. "I guess so. Give my parents a second chance to get things right."

It wasn't like they had done terribly the first time, not up until recently. Really, there was very little to complain about. Gen had a wonderful childhood. She had everything and anything she could ever want and the love two attentive, invested parents. They always wanted her to succeed, and embraced her uniqueness even if it got on their nerves from time to time. They knew she wasn't a stereotypical princess...but Gen knew there was only so much weirdness they could take before they drew the line.

"Why'd you never tell them?" Neelam asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, your brother is out and proud and doing just fine. They're a pretty tolerant pair. It's not like they would disown you."

"No, they wouldn't disown me."

Gen knew that. She knew that nothing could stop them from loving her. But that didn't mean that everything would go back to normal. Things didn't work like that, no matter how tolerant someone claimed to be.

"Then why keep the secret?"

"Besides having to give up everything I'd ever wanted?" Gen asked rhetorically, and Neelam's face dropped. She must not have thought that far, or maybe she had but was hoping for something different. Gen stared out at the horizon, taking in the city. She'd always loved this view, even now when it broke her heart. "I had thought about coming out to them at least a hundred times, to be honest. My last attempt was the night of my birthday, right before this whole Selection shit started."

"So what stopped you those other ninety-nine times?"

"A few weeks after Beau came out, Maman was having a really tough time with it. I think she felt guilty that she didn't see it sooner, that she wasn't the super mother she thought she was. But she came to me with this really serious look on her face, and she told me that I could always tell her or Papa anything, no matter what. Then she asked me if I was a lesbian, and for a split second, I wanted to come clean. I wanted to tell her, but I didn't. I told her I wasn't, that I was straight. And do you know what happened next?"

Neelam shook her head, but her expression had grown dark and sad. She knew where this was going.

"She laughed. She threw her head back and let out this really crazy, watery laugh, and asked me if she was a terrible person for being relieved." Gen let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding, her throat swelling and her eyes burning with tears. "It was then when I realized I could never, ever tell her. How could I, when I couldn't believe a word she said?"

Gen had dozens of those little stories - tiny digs and comments compiled over a lifetime that created a mountain too big to overcome. She always prided herself on having a thick skin, taking no bullshit, but all those tiny things had twisted her self confidence into self loathing. And now...now that it was all in the open...Gen didn't know how she was going to face her mother. Either the woman was going to accept her or she was going to ice her out like she did her oldest born son. Gen didn't know if she could handle the latter. These past few weeks of silence had been hell enough.

"You know what Mom told me when she and Dad first separated?" Neelam asked, and Gen shook her head. "She told me not to worry, that Dad was only going to stay at my grandparent's place for a few nights while she cooled off. But then days turned into weeks, then a month, but every time I asked her where Dad went, she just made these excuses.

"I think I finally got that he wasn't coming back when he didn't show up for Diwali. It was always this big deal at the palace; he and I would stay up all night singing and dancing and watching the fireworks. I'd made him a special lantern that year, spent days designing it, but he never came." Even though the wound was years old, Neelam sounded so sad that Gen wanted to hug her. The younger girl picked at a errant piece of tulle, ripping it from her skirt as she tried to contain her nerves. "For a while, I resented Mom. She never made me feel like I could miss him; she just wanted us to move on like he never existed. And I couldn't do that. I still can't."

"You shouldn't have to."

Neelam threw the piece of tulle over the edge, the both of them watching it drift away until it was no longer visible. "The point is, parents can be disappointing...but they're human. They're not perfect, even if we want them to be."

They didn't say anything for a while, both of them staring out at the city, contemplating. Two more tour groups came and went before the cold became unbearable and they made their way back down. Instead of going back to the car, Neelam hailed them a taxi and pulled Gen inside.

"We have one more stop," she said, her attention focused out the window.

It was a short drive, only a few minutes through the winding streets. From the cab, Gen could see the citizens of Paris out and about, taking their time window shopping and walking hand in hand with their loved ones. Dogs jumped at the heels of their owners, stopped to sniff the potted flowers outside of quaint little cafes that were closing down for the night. Then, the narrow residential rows gave way to a larger, more open street.

The taxi deposited them in front of a sprawling estate: _le Louvre_.

"There's no way - " Gen tried to protest before Neelam hit her with the, "Hush! And follow me."

It was nearly closing, but they managed to sneak in through the rush of people who were there for a last minute peak. They got a few strange glances from security, a few double takes, like they weren't sure they could believe their eyes. But Gen kept her head down low and they were able to get from the main lobby to one of the less crowded halls without incident.

They ended up, coincidentally, in a room with a very historically important, famous piece of artwork: Lady Liberty Leads the People.

"Oh wow!" Neelam gasped, abandoning Gen and elbowing a few people in the ribs to get a closer look. Gen gave those tourists sympathetic smiles as she chased her travel buddy who, instead of apologizing, was running her mouth a mile a minute. "What a woman before her time - leading all these men. Such a rebel. I know it's supposed to be symbolic, but she really rocks the whole 'tits out for freedom' thing. I could never."

Gen shot Neelam a strange look. What went on in that strange brain of hers?

"I don't think 'tits out for freedom' is what the guy who painted it had in mind."

"Maybe not, but you have to admit, it's better than whatever mid-nineteenth century melodrama that inspired it," Neelam retorted, cocking her head to the side so she could see the work from a new angle.

"You mean a bloody revolution that claimed the lives of thousands of men and women, usurping the monarchy for a second time?"

"Third time's the charm?"

Neelam was unbelievable, but Gen knew she was just doing this to get a rise out of Gen. There was no way she would give such flippant answers for any other reason. And damn it, it was working. Gen could feel herself starting to laugh against her will.

"When did you know that you liked girls?"

Well, that came out of nowhere. Quite literally, Gen felt like she had been gut punched. All the bubbling laughter died, and she felt herself settle into a more somber headspace.

"Has this all been some nefarious plan to get me alone and vulnerable so I will divulge all my deep dark secrets?"

Neelam chuckled a little bit, her cheeks flushing. She actually looked bashful. "No, nothing like that. I just thought..." she didn't finish her thought, the floor suddenly much more interesting. "I don't know what I thought. It's stupid. This whole thing was stupid. Forget I said anything."

For the first time, Neelam actually looked embarrassed. Gen had seen Neelam wear a lot of emotions, but never embarrassed, not even when she was caught in the middle of her failed parental reunion. It was then Gen remembered the conversation they had that very same night. Maybe Neelam planned this night for Gen, but maybe this was also her way of trying to figure things out. Gen wasn't the only one questioning certain aspects of their life; the least she could do was be honest with someone who was in the same boat.

"I think I knew when I was thirteen, fourteen. I pushed it off for a long time, refused to deal with it. By the time I came to terms with the fact that I was gay, Beau was in the middle of his coming out crisis, and so it got pushed off again...and again...and again...until it resulted in this current disaster."

Neelam looked up from the ground and arched an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

"I don't know. Little things, I guess. Whenever a pretty girl paid me attention, my heart would beat faster, I would stutter, my palms would sweat. I had to stop going to fashion shows because I was more focused on the models' bodies than what was covering them." Gen listed, thinking back on all her past failed crushes. "There weren't a lot of royal children my age, but my parents would bring around senators' kids every once in a while. When I was nine, Grandmère invited the counsel and their families over for an Easter luncheon, and Senator Lambert's daughter made me a flower crown. I blushed up a storm. It didn't matter that she made one for everyone else; she made that one for me, and I was convinced it was a token of some unspoken affection. I kept it until it shriveled and died."

Neelam processed this. She chewed on her bottom lip and stared at the passing artwork, though she didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular. Whatever Gen had said had not yet answered what she really wanted to know.

"Have you ever been in love?"

The girl sure knew how to throw heavy punches. Gen knew she didn't have to answer these questions. They were invasive and cut far too deep for her current emotional state, but something about Neelam made Gen want to tell the truth. Or maybe it was the lingering loose lips from all the liquor working its way out her body.

"No...I uh...I was always caught up in fantasizing about what I couldn't have...about the wrong people."

"I'm guessing your Princess Charming wasn't who she was all cracked up to be."

"You would guess right," Gen said, shaking her head at all the hours she spent foolishly pining after someone who would never, ever love her the way she wanted. "Apparently the only thing Samara cares about is herself."

"Ugh, that snobby little twat? Really?" Neelam asked, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "Why her? She treats everyone like dirt."

"Funny, Beau said the same thing." There was nothing funny about the situation, but the irony was not to go unnoticed. It was sad just how blind Gen was when it came to her crush on Samara. "She wasn't always like that, not when we were younger, or at least that what I told myself for a very long time. I guess I just wanted to see the good in her. Plus, the girl is gorgeous. That never hurts."

"That does explain why you were so twitchy around her during Kase's birthday. Though I do remember her storming off in a cloud of Chanel."

"Yeah...I kind of told her to fuck off. Turns out the only reason she was my friend was because she wanted what I had: the boys," Gen said, lips twisting up in a wry smile. "Joke's on her. I don't even have them anymore. I'm officially useless."

"Give yourself some more credit - you were useless long before you lost the boys."

A beat of silence and then Gen was bent over sideways laughing. Neelam was laughing too, swiping away at tears growing in the corner of her brown eyes. It wasn't even that funny of a comment, but the abruptness of it broke the tense atmosphere and for that, Gen was grateful.

Then Neelam was composing herself, sucking in a steadying breath before looking Gen right in the eye. "But seriously, for what it's worth, I think you're pretty damn fantastic."

Gen didn't know what to say, or if there was anything to say. Neelam didn't seem to want any kind of response, because she was moving in the next second, on to the next latest and greatest piece of art. Gen wasn't really paying attention to a lot of it. She had been to this museum a few times before, learned its history as a former royal palace before the Revolution a bajillion years ago - the very same history that Neelam rattled off as they went, overly enthusiastic about each detail. It was Neelam's enthusiasm that made it a fun time: watching her get captivated by a certain sculpture or extrapolating insane symbolism from every canvas.

They must have been walking for forever when the pair happened upon an open, cavernous room. There were a few other stragglers wandering along the edges, but no one was paying them much mind. They were all focused on the sole painting on the far wall.

"And here we are, the _pièce de résistance_!"

The Mona Lisa.

Gen felt rather dumb for forgetting about the museum's main attraction. People came from far and wide, spending thousands just to glimpse the perfectly preserved work of art. And there they were, admiring from a distance - Neelam for the first time and Gen for the hundredth.

"Leonardo DiVinci never finished the painting, you know; he kept adding layer upon layer of paint to the portrait, trying to make it perfect," Neelam narrating their way closer, her scrutinizing gaze never moving from the Mona Lisa. She was completely consumed in it. "What a stereotypical man. Look at her: she's a babe. Perfect just the way she is, still celebrated all these years later, flaws and all."

"Is this the part when you tell me I'm the Mona Lisa and that my flaws are beautiful?"

"What kind of cheesy white people line is that?" Neelam scoffed, but the way she rolled her eyes - brown irises sparkling playfully - told Gen all she needed to know.

They stole a bench across from the painting and sat for a moment, admiring. Or, on Gen's part, contemplating.

"I always thought the Mona Lisa was underwhelming," Gen admitted, staring into those enigmatic eyebrow-less eyes. "Tourists come from all around the world just to see it, and it's barely bigger than a dinner plate. What kind of symbolism do you get from that?"

"That what we idolize can often seem disappointing when we bring it back down to size," Neelam said pensively, sitting down right next to Gen, shoulders brushing. "But that doesn't make her any less amazing."

So young and yet, Neelam always knew the exact right things to say? How did she do th-

Gen's thoughts were cut off with the force of a freight train when Neelam's lips came crashing into her own with a brutal softness - contradiction that perfectly embodied the impulsive girl. There was barely any time to process _holy shit, she's kissing me!_ before it was over, there and gone in an instant. Like the collision never even happened.

But it did happen. It had to've. Because all of Gen's nerves felt shot and tingly, her nose tickling with the strangest mix of spice and lavender. Old world and new world. A perfect blend.

"What was that?"

Her voice came out all wrong, breathy and high-pitched. Gen could not help but reach up and touch her lips, confused and overwhelmed.

Neelam only cocked her head to the side, brown eyes wide and slightly panicked like she hadn't expected to act on that particular impulse. "What was what?"

And then she was jumping up off the bench and pacing quickly to the other end of the room.

All Gen could do was sit there and watch. This was exactly the kind of shit she did not need. Gen was supposed to be wallowing and self-destructing in peace. Instead, she was living out some kind of indie movie montage where her own personal manic pixie dream girl whisked her around monuments and museums and compared her to art and kissed her out of the blue and then denied anything ever happened.

Was her life even real anymore?

Gen heaved out a sigh, scrubbing her face and standing up. She instantly felt ten years older. Everything ached: her back, her knees, her heart. She just wanted to go to bed.

"Come on. They're closing soon. Let's get you back to the palace before they kick us out," Gen called across the room. Her voice echoed back to her in a dozen different parodies. How ironic.

"Do we have to?"

Neelam spun a circle, head tipped to the ceiling. As much as she was putting on the endless energy front, Gen could see the exhaustion in the growing bags under her eyes, in the tired lines pinching near that overstretched smile. It had been a long week for the both of them. They both needed rest no matter how hard they both wanted to fight it.

"Yeah, we do. Unless you want me arrested for kidnapping."

"Adult-napping," Neelam huffed and crossed her arms. "I'm practically eighteen, thank you very much. I am counting down the days."

"Uh-huh. If you're good on the way back we can stop for burgers."

"Make it chicken tenders and we have a deal."

 _Literal child,_ Gen mumbled under her breath. But she still slung her arm around Neelam's shoulders when the other girl rested her tired head on her shoulder. She still hailed a cab to drive them the entire two miles back to the car with Neelam drooling on her sweatshirt. She still tucked Neelam in the backseat of the SUV and drove them home, taking extra care not to go over bumps or get caught in any potholes. They did not end up getting any food, if only because Neelam was snoozing heavily by the time she pulled around _l'Arc de Triomphe_.

Versailles was still lit when Gen pulled into the drive. It was the first time she had seen her house in three days, but it might as well have been a lifetime. Her world was certainly different then. No one was there to greet them - small blessings - so it was easy to slip through the halls. Gen drew the line at carrying Neelam up the stairs and tucking her into bed, but it was easy enough to wish the girl a good night and make sure she was able to put one foot after the other until she disappeared into her room.

Tired beyond belief, Gen stumbled into her room. Nothing had been moved or altered; no one had decided to throw her out. It was a tiny comfort, one she could appreciate later. Right now, her feet were killing her and she was more confused now than ever before, but she was smiling. It was something. Maybe Neelam wasn't so far off base after all. Or maybe the exhaustion was making Gen delirious.

Either way, it was time for bed. Gen kicked off her sneakers with a dull thud, and she was about to strip out of her sweats when she realized she wasn't alone.

Henri sat in the corner of the sofa. He put a finger to his lips, a gentle signal to be quiet not for his sake, but for the sleeping lady in his lap.

"She just dozed off."

His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to make Elyan stir, her brow furrowing as she picked up the voices. She raised her sleepy head and cracked her tired eyes.

"Gen..." she croaked, leaning up a little despite Henri's hand carding through her hair. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Lay back down," Gen encouraged, reaching over to settle her overly exhausted maid. The young woman went without protest, curling back up on Henri's lap like a house cat.

"Gone so long...had me worried..." she trailed off, speech slurred just a tiny bit. It made Gen's lips curl into a small smile, the sight completely endearing.

"No need. I was in good hands," Gen assured, looking up to Henri who gave her a small nod, a knowing smile. Her grin widened. "Looks like you were in good hands too."

"Mmmmhmmm," Elyan agreed without hesitation, snuggling into Henri's stomach. It couldn't be comfortable to use an eight-pack as a headrest, but Elyan was completely content. "The best."

Gen chuckled and Henri's hand stilled, though it did not move. Perhaps he was just now realizing the intimacy of this situation and how it looked to Gen. But Gen didn't care. Sure, it was a strange twist of events; once enemies now lovers (? - she would have to interrogate the details out of Elyan later) but stranger things have happened. The last few days of Gen's life was a testament to that.

"I'm glad you're happy, E," Gen said, unsure if Elyan could hear her anymore of if the maid was too far gone into her subconscious. "One of us deserves to be."

* * *

 _French Dictionary:_

 _Qu'est-ce que je ferais sans toi? = What would I do without you?_


	32. Bam! Fireworks

A/N: All right everybody! This is it: the Hallmark ending this story both needs and deserves! Will Gen take her birthright back? Will Delphine get her just desserts? Will Neelam and Gen finally get their shit together? We shall find out. I'm gonna be honest - I totally stole the coronation vows from the ones I used in TBaH, but they're super generic and applicable to any country's needs, so sue me. Everything else is 100% original material. You can also find all the gowns/suits mentioned on my Pinterest board. What's after this epic chapter you may ask? The epilogue...I can't believe we are one away from the end. It's been an insanely fun ride, and I'm so grateful for all the support and readership.

For those interested, the playlist/musical inspiration for this chapter is as follows (in no particular order): Breathin by Ariana Grande, JT by Jon Bellion, Without Me by Halsey, Stupid Deep by Jon Bellion, Brand New Jeans by Tash, Kingdom Come by Jon Bellion, come out and play by Billie Eilish, and Mountains by LSD.

* * *

Bam! Fireworks

The next morning, Gen cracked a bleary eyeball out from under her mountain of blankets to see Elyan bent over her, nervous.

"I let you sleep as long as I could, but - "

" - but it's going to start soon," Gen finished, already feeling drained even though she had gotten more than enough sleep.

Today was the day. Today was the day that everything changed.

"If you wanted to skip the coronation, everyone would understand..."

"What kind of coward would that make me?" Gen asked, pushing back the covers and getting out of bed. It was unbearably cold, even with the fireplace going, but she forced herself to move. "I've prepared for this day my whole life. Queen or not, I'm not going to miss it."

"Well that - " Elyan started, a tad surprised but also proud. "That is incredibly brave of you, _Votre Altesse_."

Gen wrinkled her nose. _Brave_. Now there was a word that wasn't often used to describe her. Though, she supposed she should get used to it. All the tabloids were saying the same trash more than likely - how it was so brave of her to embrace her sexuality, that it was brave of her to come out as a member of the royal family, that it was brave of her to live her truth. They said the same shit to Beau, like LGBTQ people needed some kind of medal for just living their lives instead of the public being the ones to change their shitty, old-fashioned views.

Today was many things, but not the day to tackle that particular beast. No, today was the day to walk into the lion's den, and she was going to need the right battle armor.

The garment bag was hanging over the back of the arm chair. Gen took it down and placed it on the bed, pulling the zipper down to reveal the gown underneath. It was a work of art deserving of the Louvre - a bodice of golden silk and beadwork, so delicate yet Gen knew it would withstand the test of time. The skirt seemed to go on forever; Freya's people must have worked miracle's getting it stuffed in the bag. A truly iconic gown for what was supposed to be an iconic moment in history.

"It came right after the press conference, just in time for the coronation," Elyan said, clasping her hand together nervously. "I can pick something else, if you'd like."

"No. Freya really outdid herself. It would be a shame to let her hard work go to waste." Gen zipped the bag back up, cleared her throat, and turned to Elyan. "Help me get ready?"

Time moved in slow motion as Gen went through the makeover process. Her face was made up, her hair pulled and teased until they laid in perfect curls pulled and twisted in only a way Elyan could ever manage. She didn't even flinch when her eyebrows were attacked and her upper lip was rid of baby hairs. Gen kept her gaze away from mirrors until the very end, once she was dressed and adorned with diamonds the size of grapes.

"Oh, _Votre Altesse_ ," Elyan gasped, legitimately tearing up as she placed one hand over her heart. "You look beautiful."

That, she did. In the old standing mirror, Gen studied her reflection and realized that she hardly recognized herself. She looked older somehow, more regal. The gown was modest, the sleeves reaching down to the bone of her wrist and the sweetheart cut of the bodice hugging her just right. The way the layers of the skirt fell had a magical effect, creating a fairly long train behind her. And then there was the cape Freya had designed to melt seamlessly into the skirt - thin layers of shimmering golden gauze that draped over one shoulder. In a perfect world, the crown jewels would complete the look, but there was regality in its current simplicity.

"She looks like a queen."

Both turned to see Henri, dressed in his finest black suit, standing at the door. He was waiting to escort Gen to the car. She had taken all the time she could afford.

Henri took both of Gen's hands as he helped her down off the seamstress' stand, steadying her on the ground. "It has been an honor to serve you, _Votre Altesse_. Time to go."

It sounded so final, and in many ways, she supposed it was. The Selection was over; Henri's job was done. After today, there would be no reason for him to stay. Gen found that she was going to miss him, more than she ever expected. But she was not going to cry, because if she started now then she was never going to stop. Besides, Henri wasn't much of a crier, and it was embarrassing if only one of them burst into tears.

"Go slow? I can't walk in these shoes."

That got a few chuckles. Good. Laughter was so much better than tears.

"I will walk you out," Elyan offered, though Gen knew it was a thinly veiled excuse to spend more time with Henri. The maid wasn't even trying to hide it anymore, the minx.

Gen gave them their space, walking a few paces behind while they went ahead arm in arm. She didn't expect anyone important to still be milling about Versailles. Surely everyone who was anyone had already made their way to Notre Dame. So, that made seeing her little brother all the more surprising.

"Lou? What are you still doing here?"

He was with his nanny, the older woman letting go of his hand so he could meet Gen half way across the hall. Why was he not with the rest of the family? Why would they leave him behind?

"Awww you look so handsome..." Gen knelt down so that she could face the little boy at eye level. He had gotten all dressed up in a suit and tie for the occasion. There were even a few irises in his breast pocket. However, Louis looked completely miserable, hanging his head as he stared at his feet, a behavior that the outgoing child did not normally display. "What's wrong?"

"Delphi said she didn't want me at the party," he pouted, that tiny bottom lip pushed out as far as it could go. "I promised to be good, but she said it's no place for kids."

"Well that's no fun at all," Gen sympathized, running her hand through her brother's unruly curls. True, he could be a menace, but he really seemed bummed by being left out. "Why don't you be my date, huh? That way she can't say no."

Louis looked up through his curls and beamed at Gen, wrapping his little arms around her neck in a hug. Gen felt her breath hitch as she hugged him back. Damn it, it was too early to cry! But it was so nice to know that she still had the love of her brother, that it was one relationship she had not tainted.

They walked hand in hand to the car, Henri unfazed by the new addition. The siblings piled into the backseat, Elyan kissed Henri goodbye on the cheek, and off they went.

The drive from Versailles to Notre Dame was fairly quick, though traffic was murder. Gen was grateful for blacked-out windows, otherwise the hordes of people who had lined up on the streets would have swarmed the SUV and she never would have gotten to the church on time. Gen wanted to be uplifted by all the people she saw, but they were not for her. They were for Delphine, though Gen felt a little niggling voice in the back of her head say that there would be even more people on the street if it was still her coronation.

A lot of them had signs, most of them with the usual "Vive La France" and "Long Live the Queen!". There were some that held pictures of Delphine's face. But many of them must have been made when this was still Gen's day, because there were a fair amount that held her face as well. Then there were ones with rainbows and said things like "Love is Love" and "Love Leads the Way". And, because humanity always had to show it's true face, there were the ugly, despicable posters that showed just how much discrimination France still had to work on. The country seemed divided. Gen only hoped that putting Delphi on the throne would not spark a civil war.

When Henri pulled in the square in front of Notre Dame, there was barely enough road to make it through the sea of people and press. There were a few cars ahead of them, each on depositing lords, ladies, and other important social figures. Louis was bouncing in his seat, excited by all the commotion. Gen squeezed his hand once, trying to be half as enthusiastic about this as he was. Henri looked in the rearview mirror, sensing Gen's nerves.

"Are you alright, _Votre Altesse_?" he asked. "Would you like me to turn around?"

Henri parked and went to go open Gen's door. She let Louis out first, the little gentleman offering his hand to help Gen out of the car. It was as if everyone took a collective gasp, the press halting for a singular moment to process that, _yes, this was indeed the recently-disgraced princess showing up to crash her sister's coronation_ , before going wild.

Gen had expected the press to go all out. She knew what was bound to happen showing her face. But knowing what was going to happen and living in it were two entirely different things, and right now all the screaming questions and flashing lights made Gen panic. Was it too late to turn around? Was the car still behind her?

Then, Louis squeezed her hand just like she had done to him in the car, and smiled. Henri was at her back, a soothing presence. She had enough support to make it to those double doors. Gen ignored every person trying to get her attention, every journalist and politician and self-proclaimed friend until she finally made her way inside. Thank _Dieu_ there was no one there to announce her arrive. Not that she needed it.

Everyone stopped and stared when she walked in the room.

Louis detached from her the moment he saw Maman et Papa. running off to tackle their legs in a hug. She could feel her mother and father's eyes travel from their youngest son to her, watching carefully, more than likely waiting for her to make a scene. Well, they would have to keep waiting. She only had eyes on two people who were waiting for her at the end of the way.

Beau wore a rather tame navy blue three-piece suit, while Neelam decided to go all out. She wore a sparkling olive green sari over top of a shimmering bronze skirt and top. Her hair was puffed up in some kind of pseudo-pompadour with a crystal headband cutting across her forehead, the green and gold gems drawing attention to her dark brown eyes. They both stared up at Gen like she was a star...and was Beau actually tearing up?

"I didn't think you were coming," Beau said when he pulled her into a hug, surprised at her appearance but also incredibly happy.

"You of little faith," Gen tutted, shaking her head. "But to be honest, I didn't think I was going to make it. Seeing this place...being here...it's messing with me."

"Don't let these bitches get you down. You look killer, queen," Neelam complimented, proud of her little pun.

"Ha, thanks," Gen managed to actually chuckle.

Only then, in the safety of her two closest confidantes, did she feel stable enough to take a look around. The palace had really gone all out: silk curtains and tapestries with the family crest, so many flowers (mainly irises), and a guest list people would be talking about for at least the next five years. It was extravagant and opulent...and was supposed to be for her. Instead, it was for the brat standing across the hall surrounded by a flurry of attendants.

Neelam had not been joking - Delphine really had gone all out for her gown. The monstrosity was a deep purple with an attached cape embroidered with intricate golden flowers. Her train had to be at least ten feet long, and even now seamstresses were rushing to secure the bead work of her monogram at the end of the tail. Her hair was done up in an old-fashioned twist, concave near the center where the crown would rest.

Gen had to tear her eyes away lest they start to burn.

"Hey, don't focus on her," Beau said, drawing Gen's attention back towards him.

"How can I not?" Gen asked, miserable.

It was clear that Delphine was ignoring her. The girl had seen Gen come in. How could she not when it was all anyone was still whispering about? Gen didn't want to cause a scene, she really didn't, but why wasn't Delphine? That girl lived for drama. She fed off of it. Was she just faking being calm to piss off Gen? To rub her victory in Gen's face? If so, it was working.

"Your boys are here," Neelam said, and damn if that wasn't a good distraction. How could Gen have missed them? She must have been too preoccupied with Delphine, because there they were, huddled in the corner pretending like Delphine was that they couldn't see her even though they were stealing glances every two seconds. "If you want to say something, now is the time or forever hold your peace."

Gen had wanted a distraction from Delphine, not another war. But Neelam was right. This was her last chance to make things right. Maybe she would have a better shot out in the open where there were less places for them to run away.

"Come with me?" Gen asked, a little desperate and not wanting to be left alone.

She held on tightly to Neelam and Beau's hands as she walked over to the guys. They looked surprised to see her coming towards them, like they had expected her to keep her distance. Maybe she should have, given the unfriendly looks that greeted her. But they hadn't cursed at her or told her to get lost, so that was progress. Or maybe it was just due to the fact that Lochan Bellerose seemed to have jetted back to his five-star life and wasn't around to start shit.

" _Salut_ ," she greeted and waved a little.

No one replied. What a wonderful start.

"I know I haven't been the best girlfriend..." Gen stammered, trying to find the right words. The scoffs she received told her that those were not it. "Okay, I was the _worst_ girlfriend. I lied to you. I used you to cover up the fact that I am gay. I was so blinded by what I wanted that I didn't even stop to consider what you wanted, and I realize now that that was not okay. So, I just want to apologize to each of you..."

The boy closest to her was Lucas Travert, so she started with him. "On the first day, you brought me flowers. You were sweet to me, and I didn't deserve it. Just...don't stop being yourself. Some other girl out there is gonna be lucky to call you hers."

Gen didn't wait for a reaction before she moved to the next boy in line, Lucas Aubry. "If you want to be with Vange, then be with Vange. The Selection is over, and after today you won't have any reason to stick around, so now's the time. You're kind and honest and exactly the kind of person I would wish for my sister. I won't stop you."

Then Merlin. "I'm sorry that you trusted me with your secrets, but I couldn't trust you with mine. After everything you've been through, it was the last thing you deserved."

And Arlo. "I've hurt you too many times to count, and it's only right that I now know what that feels like. Tell Blaire I'm sorry too. She deserves someone better to look up to."

Hugo. "You're one of the most unique people I have ever gotten the chance to meet. I'm sorry I kept other people from seeing that."

Ulysse. "I will cherish the painting you gave me always. I want you to remember me as I was in that night, even though I know it's selfish. And tell your parents that I'm sorry. I never meant to get their hopes up, or yours."

Seb. "I can never thank you enough for being a friend. I'm sorry that I couldn't live up to the woman you thought I was. I'm sorry I disappointed you."

Anatole. "I will always be indebted to you. You saved my cousin's life - " She turned back to Seb. " - the both of you did, and I don't know where to start repaying that debt. I just never wanted to give you reason to regret helping me. And Anatole, the career you put on hold for me...I wasn't worth that, and I'm sorry for wasting your time."

Finally, she reached Dante. Oh, what to say to the man she hurt the most? She took both his hands, grateful that he allowed it, and stepped off to the side. Not that there was anything secret in this apology, but she felt it required a certain amount of delicacy. After all, they had been engaged to be married.

"You are the kindest, purest, most beautiful soul I have ever met. I love your dorkiness, how you always stand up for what's right, and your impeccable taste in sweaters. I wish...I wish so much that things could have worked out. There are no words to say that can make up for what I did to you. All I can do is hope that, one day, you'll find it in your heart to forgive me. You have such a big heart. I hope I didn't crush it," Gen finished and let go of Dante's hands, his face still too passive to read. "The castle, the title, it's all yours. That was a gift from my grandmother for you to do with as you please. Whatever you decide, I will understand."

Gen stepped back to face them all, finally done. She had said her peace. Whatever happened next was on the boys.

"All of you deserved better than me, and I hope that you find it," Gen wished, clasping her hands together in finality. "You're all free to go. I won't make you suffer through this any longer."

She hung her head and waited for the inevitable mass exodus. However, the seconds ticked by and no feet were moving.

"We'll stay."

Gen spun to Arlo, the source of the voice, bewildered. "Excuse me?"

"He said, we're staying," Merlin repeated, uncrossing his arms so that he wasn't quite so intimidating - which was really impressive seeing as though he was wearing a pink suit. "After the conference we all got to thinking and, despite everything, you've stuck with us and supported us through thick and thin. You've done a lot for us that you didn't have to do. Now, it's our turn to support you."

"I...I don't know what to say..." Gen stammered. She could feel the tears coming, hot and burning at the corners of her eyes. The only thing that kept them from falling was the hell she knew she would receive from Elyan if she let her makeup get ruined.

"Say you're gonna walk in there and show these haters what a true queen looks like."

"That, I can do," Gen replied, smiling wide, completely disbelieving that this was happening right now. "It doesn't hurt that I have the best looking entourage to back me up."

Gen extended her elbows to the former-Selected, Arlo and Seb getting the hint.

"I would be honored, _Votre Altesse,_ " Seb replied, taking her left side while Arlo silently took up the right. The height differences were amusing, but Gen didn't really care. The rest of the boys followed her in the back, and bless them, they carefully avoided stepping on her train.

They were almost to the door when Gen could avoid her family no longer. Maman et Papa were waiting at the entryway, as was Evangeline. Delphine was standing further away, seemingly irritated that they were waiting on Gen.

"Go ahead, it's okay," Gen assured. The boys went with minimal hesitation. It was Neelam and Beau who lingered, but Heather - who looked as grande as the queen to be in a silver gown embedded with crystals covered by a ruffled pink jacket with a train longer than Delphi's - made sure to snatch her daughter away before she could do anything regretful. At least Beau had to stay because of family reasons. At least she wasn't left out to dry completely.

Papa looked sharp in his classic black tux, Maman standing in contrast in her carnation red gown that trumpeted at the bottom, her shoulders bare and arms covered with white silk gloves. Evangeline wore her staple blue, this time embellished with black and silver beads. Unlike her twin who radiated ego and pride, Evangeline looked positively irate, her mouth down turned in a frown. If it were any other day, Gen would have asked why. However, she did not want to be the first to speak, patiently waiting for someone to break the ice.

There had been awkward times with her parents (at least three different instances in the last month came to mind) but this one took the cake. Everyone was uncomfortable, as if they did not know what to say. If they were going to stand around staring at one another, they why make a point to attract her attention at all?

" _Geneviève, c_ _hérie_ _, quelle suprise_ ," Maman finally said, though her voice sounded oddly stilted. "We did not think you were coming given the circumstance."

"You didn't think I could handle it?" Gen asked, and though she did not mean to be rude, she could not force herself to remain a hundred percent civil. A lot of these wounds were fresh, and they stung.

So, she ignored the wounds. This was neither the time nor the place to fight those particular battles. Instead, because Gen was an absolute masochist with no self-preservation, she turned to face the dragon.

"You look beautiful, Delphi."

"Don't," Delphine snapped, her jaw clenched tight to keep it from wobbling. "Don't pretend like you're happy for me. You hate that I'm going to be queen. You hate it, and you hate me, don't lie."

"You're right. I do hate that you're going to be queen, but I don't hate you, Delphi," Gen sighed, suddenly very tired and very sad as she stared into her sister's aggressively green eyes. "I just never understood why you hate me."

"Hate you?" Delphine repeated, disbelieving but also unable to hide the venom in her voice. "I don't hate you. You _infuriate_ me. You don't cherish anything. You made all the wrong choices, so many mistakes, and they still love you. They _always_ love you. I have spent my whole life doing everything the right way. I have done everything by the book, never a toe out of line, and it's still not enough. I always come in second to you. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? To know that no matter how hard you try, you'll always be second best? Well not anymore."

There were angry tears stinging in the corners of Delphi's eyes, and her fists were drawn so tight that if Gen could have seen her knuckles beneath those gloves they would have been stark white. Gen wanted to be angry at Delphi, but she had had no idea any of this was going on. How long had Delphine been bottling her feelings? Perhaps as long, if not longer, than Gen had been bottling her own.

"I can't say I do. But if this is what you need to get out from under my shadow, then we're both going to have to find a way to live with it."

They ended up staring at one another, neither saying a thing as they locked themselves in some battle of wills. It was then when Gen allowed herself to think of a world where she and her sister were not enemies, but friends. How different would things have been if they had just been forthcoming with their insecurities? How different would their lives be if they had confided in one another instead of turned one another into competition.

Beau's hand on her shoulder signaled Gen that it was time to go.

The cathedral went quiet as soon as Gen stepped foot onto the aisle. All eyes turned towards her, awaiting and anticipating. She could feel them on her, making her skin crawl and her pulse hammer. Still, she managed to put one foot in front of the other, clutching as tightly as she dared to Beau's arm without hurting him. The pew reserved for the royal family was the very first: a front row seat to the spectacle. The Selected sat in the row directly behind, everyone filing in silently, somberly. Gen made sure to place herself between Evangeline and Beau, creating a buffer between she and her parents. Maman seemed twitchy, an unusual trait in a woman so put together. Maybe she was regretting her decision to sign the country over to a disrespectful child. Or maybe she was still waiting on that spectacle.

The atmosphere was oppressive and thick, more like a funeral than a coronation.

Delphine walked down the red velvet aisle to the sound of the organ playing a dirge. The sound was dark and slow, and Gen wondered if Delphine was the one to choose this or if it was the organists demonstrating their own small act of protest. Regardless, everyone rose and inclined their heads when Delphine passed their row. Her chin was held so high that she was practically looking at the ceiling. Gen hoped she tripped over that ridiculous cape.

Of course, Delphine did no such thing. In fact, she approached the altar with all the grace of a swan. Delphine had always been much more elegant and composed than Gen. At least she had that going for her. It didn't make her any more qualified for the job though. At the fresh age of sixteen, Delphine looked like a child holding a scepter than a queen. The only silver lining in this great huge mess was that Maman would hold the real power for a few more years - at least until Delphi got married. Was it bad to wish that she remained alone forever?

Gen closed her eyes, and for the first time in forever, she actually prayed.

 _Couldn't anyone see how ridiculous this was? Couldn't anything be done? It wasn't too late to stop this. It wasn't too late..._

" _Excuse, excusez-moi_!" Maman stood from the pew and announced rather abruptly, silencing the archbishop who was in the middle of his opening speech.

The old man swiveled his wrinkly head Maman's way, as did the rest of the congregation. What could possibly be so important that the queen regent needed to halt the coronation?

"Forgive me, ladies and gentlemen, members of the clergy, but something important has come up and this ceremony may not proceed until it is resolved."

Murmurs ran through the crown like wildfire. Immediately, Gen went on high alert. She could see Papa getting up to go to Maman who was already at the side exit and waving for her family to follow her. Evangeline and Gen exchanged equally confused looks, but slid out of their seats to meet their mother. Louis held tightly onto Gen's hands as they maneuvered the crowd, Beau trailing a few steps behind.

The whole family was corralled into the antechamber of the cathedral. No one knew what was going on, yet everyone was anxious. Beau was pacing small circles around the perimeter, Papa was glancing from the clock to his watch to the door, Delphine was silently fuming in the corner, her face steadily growing redder while she stared daggers into the back of Gen's skull. The only composed ones were Louis and Vange, and the former didn't count because he was all of five years old and currently occupied with playing with puddles of wax in the candelabras. The fact that everyone was too worked up to stop him spoke volumes.

This whole day had been like some kind of bad acid trip, but if things were about to come to a head, Gen really wanted to know so she could avoid it. She had been doing so well faking being okay. If a fight was about to go down, her composed veneer was going to crack like an egg.

Then, Maman walked through the door and all hell broke loose.

" _Mère_ , what is going on?" Delphine demanded, rushing up to their mother as soon as the door was shut. "Why did you stop the ceremony?"

"I have given this a lot of thought, and I have come to the conclusion that there is only one acceptable outcome for today, and that is if Geneviève becomes queen."

"What? I don't understand..." Gen let out a shaky breath, completely caught by surprise. She wasn't the only one.

"You can't do this!" Delphine shrieked. Her face was so red it was surprising that she was not blowing smoke out of her ears. "It's unconstitutional! The law clearly states - "

"I changed the law," Maman replied, standing her ground, never wavering. She locked eyes with Gen, ignoring Delphi who was about to go into full nuclear meltdown. "Last night I convened with the counselors and senators and it was a nearly unanimous decision. Too long have we been governed by the same archaic principles...too long have I let those principles get in the way of my children's happiness. It was time for a long overdue change. And so now, the law states that any royal firstborn, no matter orientation or marital status, has absolute claim to the throne."

"You changed the law...for me?" Gen choked on her words, unable to verbalize just how much this meant to her. "B-but you said, you said it wasn't that simple! You didn't even wake me up!"

"Ceremonies can be rescheduled. Besides, some things are worth fighting for," Maman said with a smile, connecting with Gen in a way that they had not in a long time. "Let my short tenure in office be a memorable one."

"How could you!" Delphine shouted, throwing her arms down at her sides like a child in a tantrum. "How could you do this to me?"

Maman was taken aback. For so many years, she had not gotten the brunt of Delphine's moods. Now, she was seeing the full force of the red-headed storm, and it was not pretty. In fact, Maman looked fairly displeased, her lecture face on.

However, it was the most unexpected person who beat Maman to the punch.

"For someone who prizes decorum and modesty from everyone, you set absolutely no standards for yourself," Evangeline said abruptly, stunning everyone in the room into a crushing silence. The normally docile girl stared Delphine in the eye, not a single tremor in her body nor voice as she continued. "So what if our sister is attracted to women? I fail to see how that in any way devalues her character or the quality of service she has provided, and will continue to provide, for this country. I would be proud to have her as our queen, whereas with you, Delphine, I fear tyranny and abuse would run amok."

Wow. Just wow. Out of all the things to happen today, this was the most surprising.

Delphine looked like she had been hit by a truck. Beau was gaping like a fish, though any second now Gen expected him to break out into applause. Everyone else just stood there as bewildered as deer caught in headlights.

Maman cleared her throat, blinking rapidly as she tried to shake off her daze. " _Merci_ , Evangeline. While we're being honest…is there anything else anyone would like to say?"

Before anyone else had a chance to chime in, Evangeline took up the floor again.

"I am in love with Lucas Aubry," Evangeline stated plainly, leaving everyone dumbfounded once more. "He and I have developed a mutual respect for one another that blossomed into something out of our control. I know what you are going to say, and honestly, I don't much care for the consequences. I know it's treason, so do what you must. I also do not ask for you to understand. I know our ages are concerning, as he is twenty three and I am only sixteen. Just know that I am not asking for marriage; I am not even asking for an extended engagement. All I want is the opportunity to keep seeing him in whatever capacity he is comfortable."

"Evangeline!" Delphine gasped, scandalized.

"I'll be damned," Beau let out a low whistle, impressed. "I didn't think you had it in you Vange."

"He hasn't touched you, has he?" Papa asked, suddenly angry. " _Tu es un enfant_."

"Heavens no Papa!" Evangeline assured, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she tried to smooth over the situation. "We haven't even kissed. But none of that was needed to confirm what we feel. Sometimes you just know. And I'm willing to wait as long as possible...with the permission of _la reine_."

Evangeline looked over at Gen, her intentions clear. Gen felt a swell of joy for Evangeline. After all these years, the girl was finally coming into her own.

"Did you know about this?" Papa turned to ask Gen, looking way out of his depth.

"I did," Gen replied. There was no use hiding anything anymore. All secrets had done was threaten to tear their family apart. No more. "But I can confirm that Lucas has not laid a single finger upon that gorgeous red head. He's a good boy. Pure. Way too good for me, so it's no surprise he fell for Vange."

"This is madness!" Delphine exclaimed. She looked like a wild woman, and she had actually resorted to pulling on her hair in frustration. "See! This is the kind of chaos Gen has introduced to our life, and it's only the start! If you put her on the throne, insanity will follow!"

"The only insanity is why I managed to entertain your megalomania all these years," Evangeline snapped, her gaze scathing, eyes cold as they bored into her twin. "You were never going to be queen - not then and not now. Take it with grace and move on."

Gen could have been seeing things, but she swore Delphine was on the brink of tears. Not the mad kind of tears, though those were definitely present, but the hurt kind. As big and bad as she wanted people to believe she was, there was one person who could apparently take her apart with a few well-placed words.

"Don't," Vange warned and pulled away. She might as well have stabbed her twin in the heart. "All I ever wanted was a sister, but all you ever wanted was a puppet to control. No more."

"Delphine," Maman cut in, dividing the tension between the twins before more things were said that could not be taken back. "This is happening. Your sister is being crowned queen, and that's final. I never should have gotten your hopes up. Once the coronation has concluded, you and I need to have a long conversation about expectations, but for now you are more than welcome to stay, or you are free to leave if you don't feel comfortable."

It was then that Delphine realized that the fight was over. She had lost.

Then the tears finally fell. Gen watched her little sister pick up the skirt of her gown and rush down the hall, presumably out the door and back to the palace. Gen had half a mind to recommend Le Petit Trianon, but she didn't want Delphine ruining her safe space. She felt bad for Delphine, but not that bad. Karma was a bitch after all, and Delphine was far past her due.

"Well, I think we've kept the people waiting long enough," Maman said, clapping her hands together and turning towards Gen. She smiled wide, so there was no mistaking the pride that lied in every inch of her expression "It's time for France to meet her new queen."

The ceremony went much smoother the second time.

The whole atmosphere of the cathedral changed. History spoke of a ruler's divine right - something Gen had always considered a bit hocus - but walking down that aisle, the vaulted ceilings going up to the heavens and stained glass windows casting myriad lights upon her, Gen started to believe. Everyone's mood had lifted, the crowd rising to greet her like an old friend. Her parents, siblings, friends, and former Selected looked on with pride. Everything felt right.

Gen felt whole.

When Gen reached the foot of the altar, she dropped to her knees. Thankfully the volume of her skirt was enough cushion against the hard stone. Not that Gen was complaining. Her entire life had led up to this moment. Now that she was there - in front of the government and _Dieu_ \- she felt a sense of fulfillment, and she wouldn't change a single thing.

"Are you willing to take the oath?" the archbishop asked, his sonorous voice ringing across the arched ceilings.

"I am willing."

He nodded solemnly as he cleared his throat and raised his hands above Gen's head. "Do you swear to protect the people of France? To guard and serve her to the best of your ability?"

"I will."

"Do you swear to enforce her laws and regulations as seen fit by the constitution? To stand by her allies and uphold her standards and moralities in the face of her enemies?"

"I will."

A murmur of approval from the crowd and the archbishop dipped his first two fingers into the ceremonial oil. "Then I crown you, Geneviève Amelie Eadlyn Regina, Her Majesty Most High."

The archbishop anointed her forehead and placed the crown atop her head, the weight heavy but a perfect fit. Like it was meant to be there all along. When she rose to face her people, she did so with dignity. They lauded her with roaring applause - every last member of the council, every senator, every dignitary, every royal, all of them chanting:

"Long live the Queen!"

Over and over and over again, the sound the sweetest to grace Gen's ears. This moment would be replayed for centuries to come: the day the first openly gay woman was crowned monarch. It was momentous. It was joyous. It was everything Gen had ever wanted and more.

And then, as if that were not enough, Gen moved to the balcony. Though she stood above her people, she was not apart from them. If anything, she felt closer to them than ever, the last barrier finally removed. There, at the edge, she rest her hands upon the railing and looked out upon the sea of people who had come to support her. Theirs was a deafening roar, their sounds indistinguishable, but even from this far she could read some of their posters professing love, devotion, and solidarity.

Her heart was full.

"They love me," Gen said, tears sparkling in her eyes. All the positive emotions were overwhelming. "They really love me."

"They really do."

Gen turned around and realized that she was not alone. Neelam had followed her out onto the balcony, her grin just as wide as all the others and full of pride. The younger girl smiled as she surveyed the crowd and took a step closer to Gen. "But I know someone who loves you even more."

"Really? Who?"

It was such a profound thought, that Gen could be loved any more than she was in this exact moment. She couldn't fathom it. But Neelam merely sighed and rolled her eyes, her smile too wide to be anything other than joyful.

"You're such an idiot."

Gen thought she was having déjà vu, because the next thing she knew, Neelam was up in her space - close enough so Gen could see the flecks of gold in those dark brown irises - and pulling her in for a world-shattering kiss.

Everyone was collectively gasping, the crowds were shrieking, Heather had nearly passed out on the floor from shock, but damn if it wasn't the best kiss of Gen's life. So much better than the one in the Louvre. The most iconic one France had seen in centuries. Up there on the balcony, dressed in a ballgown and a crown on her head, Gen felt like she was living a fairytale.

When they finally pulled away, Neelam had a dazed look about her, her smile soft as she whispered, "Bam! Fireworks."

Gen laughed and pulled Neelam in for another kiss.


	33. My Big Fat Indo-Parisian Wedding

A/N: Here were are dear readers, the end of our ride. Boy, has it been a wonderful one! This may be Gen and crew's curtain call, but they're going out in style ;)

A huge thank you to everyone who submitted a character! This story could not have come to fruition without you and your wonderful boys! I loved getting to know each and every one of them, each of them special and unique in their own way. I will miss getting to write them, but they will always live on between these pages.

I would like to thank **Anj** for allowing me to portray Heather Bloomsdale once more, as well as add Neelam Subramani into this universe. You have been an absolute rock of support throughout the entire wring process, and I could not have done half of the things in this story without you to bounce ideas off of. Also, I have you to credit for all of my newfound knowledge about Indian culture. I don't think I could have done the characters justice without you there to help :)

I would like to thank **Wifey** , my partner in crime, for all her real life support and late night all-caps texts which had me in stitches. I hope this epilogue satisfies everything you've been itching for.

I would like to thank **Green** and **Anastasia** for commenting on nearly every chapter and being genuinely amazing. Your reviews kept me in high spirits, and I could not be more grateful for two incredible people like you.

I would also like to thank anyone and everyone else who faved/followed/reviewed this story at any point. Any and all your words were cherished, and every day I count myself grateful to have the support of such a fantastic fanbase.

And finally I would like to thank Kiera Cass for once more providing me with her world to shape and mold and wreck to my own heart's desire.

Music Inspiration: This chapter was pretty much written to the cover song of Somewhere Only We Know by Reneé Dominique and Auld Lang Syne by Audrianna Cole.

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My Big Fat Indo-Parisian Wedding

 _Five years later_

Paris, the city of lights.

Or, as Queen Geneviève Amelie Eadlyn Schreave de Sauveterre liked to call it: Paris, the city of love. For once, that monicker didn't seem tacky or overdone. For once, it was absolutely perfect, because today was the day Gen's love would go down in history.

She woke up unaided that morning - nerves making sleep impossible - and skipped to the kitchen. Servants and counselors alike bowed as she passed, even in her oversized pajamas and fuzzy robe. She must have been quite the sight: a full face of make up and tumbling curls trapped in loungewear. It would be a lie to say that was the laziest look she'd rocked over the years, one time in particular involving a towel coming to mind.

There was someone else in the kitchens besides the cooks, a familiar man still in his pajamas and head of blond and silver curls stuck in the latest edition of La Journal Parisienne.

" _Bon matin, Papa_ ," Gen greeted as she passed her father on the way to the coffee maker. He replied with a kiss to her forehead, his nose still buried in the daily paper. Some things never changed.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready? Today is a big day," he asked.

"Shouldn't you?" Gen countered, stealing some eggs off of his plate while he wasn't looking. "It isn't every day your oldest daughter gets married."

"It is not indeed."

Though the oldest to get married, she was not the first. Beau had beat her to the punch about six months ago, finally making things official with Marcel. Ever since the night the Governor of Martinique made a visit, Gen had her suspicions, but it took years of the former-valet being out of the service of the royal family for Beau to ever admit he had more than just a passing attraction. Gen hadn't seen her brother since the small, countryside ceremony, and was eager to see him at her own wedding, today.

She sat down across from her father and caught the headline that streaked the front page.

"Ugh, I wish they would stop calling us that," Gen complained. The media insisted on calling their ship name 'Geelam' no matter how many times both she and Neelam insisted their name should be the simpler, much more elegant, 'Gem'. "I swear they're just doing it to be annoying."

"Such is the way of the press," Papa shrugged, amused by Gen's pouting. "They have been favorable toward you so far."

"It's been an unexpected kindness."

"It is what you deserve," Papa replied with sincerity. When he looked up, his gaze was soft and unwavering. "You have done so much in such a short time as queen, and I have no doubt that you will continue to shine with Miss Subramani by your side." He reached across the table and took Gen's hand in his own, squeezing. "I am so, very proud of you _ma chérie_."

"Papa, stop," Gen insisted, batting away his hand with a fond smile on her lips. "It is too early to be this mushy, and you're going to make me cry in my eggs."

"It is never too early. Your Maman has been crying since she woke."

"Tears of joy, no doubt. I am finally off of your hands."

He merely chuckled and patted Gen's hand once more before returning to his paper. Gen kissed his cheek as she got up and left, her visit brief. There was too much to do to dawdle in any place too long, but there was always a spare second to grab one of the reception cupcakes off the counter before the cooks noticed.

Everyone stopped and congratulated Gen on her way back to her room, and she stopped to thank them in between sweet bites of cake. Gen was just licking the last remnants of vanilla buttercream from her fingers - best to hide the evidence before she got an earful - when she pushed open the double doors.

"There you are!" Elyan exclaimed, her black uniform swirling around her in a flurry. The maid was even more stressed than Gen was, and it wasn't even her wedding.

"Calm down, E. It's gonna be fine. We are right on schedule," Gen assured, ushering her maid to sit down. Of course it was difficult for the other woman to maneuver herself around when there was a seven-months pregnant stomach to factor in the mix. Elyan huffed as she sat, dabbing at her brow with a kerchief. Gen knew that she hated feeling useless, and flat out refused to go on maternity leave until the last possible second. Elyan would rather be there, instructing Gen from the high-backed chair than lying around in bed.

Gen looked to the vanity where a garment bag rest over the stool that had not been there earlier when Gen was getting her hair and makeup done.

"Is that what I think it is?" Gen asked, and Elyan smiled widely in reply.

When she pulled down the zipper, Gen let out a whistle, impressed. "I say it every time, but Freya has really outdone herself."

A rebel against tradition, Gen had chosen to wear a suit to her wedding. The silvery-white fabric of the jacket and pants felt soft to the touch, raised with swirling paisley print. The shirt that was to be worn underneath was made of many thin layers of guazy white fabric, creating an ethereal element. The look was completed with sterling silver cufflinks and buttons, the rest of her jewels coming straight from the royal vault - a pearl and diamond set complete with a bracelet, necklace, brooch, and crown.

The suit satisfied the something new, the jewels something old and borrowed, and in Elyan's hands laid the blue. The maid tied the pale blue sash so that it laid nicely over Gen's right shoulder, a symbol of the nobility. Upon it laid the brooch and a few other medals of distinction.

As Gen slipped into her silver heels, she studied her reflection in the mirror, the reality of her wedding day settling in.

"Well E...how do I look?"

There were tears in Elyan's eyes, and she swiped at them furiously. Normally she would say something like 'pregnancy hormones', but there was no excuse for those tears today. They were genuine and full of joy.

"Absolutely marvelous."

Henri's voice was unmistakeable, the bodyguard making his way towards the two women. Unlike in the early days of their relationship where Gen was his number one priority, he forwent his queen in order to lean down and place a brief kiss to Elyan's lips. Even after three years of marriage, the pair still went a little moony-eyed around each other, a look that freaked Gen out the first time she saw in on her stoic bodyguard.

Sickening displays of public affection aside, Gen was so glad she had kept Henri around. As head of royal security, his new position was quite an upgrade. However, some things, like his classic black suits, remained the same.

"You have to say that, Henri. You're contractually obligated to protect me and my feelings."

"And yet, I only speak the truth," Henri replied evenly, pulling out his tablet to consult it. "The car is waiting for you outside, _Votre Majesté_. Whenever you are ready."

Gen studied her reflection one last time, squaring her shoulders. "It's now or never."

"Gah! I'm so excited," Elyan said as she squirmed in her chair, full of energy. "This is even more exciting than my own wedding!" She and Henri traded looks, but Elyan did not look remorseful. "What? It's true. It's not every day the queen gets hitched. Plus, we all know the food is going to be _fantastique_. I've been fantasizing about it since last week."

Henri merely shook his head. At first, Gen thought that he might actually have felt slighted, but upon closer look she realized he was trying his best not to start laughing. Having a pregnant wife must be like riding a rollercoaster that never stopped for nine months straight. Bless him for keeping up with E's moods, because nine times out of ten Gen could not.

Henri stepped aside and gestured for Gen to lead the way. " _Après vous, Votre Majesté_."

In all the charting and organizing, Elyan must have gotten the timing wrong, because just as their group turned around the next corner, there was Neelam.

It was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, but Gen didn't care. As soon as she and Neelam made eye contact, they were headed in each other's direction, drawn to each other like magnets.

 _Fuck_ , Gen was a lucky woman. And to think, there was a time she believed she could never have this - never get the pleasure of seeing her wife-to-be walking her way in a white and gold embroidered gown breathtaking enough to make Aphrodite jealous. As usual, Neelam was the perfect blend of old and new world, her dress somewhere between traditional Hindu and western, and only she could pull it off.

There were times when Gen wondered if this relationship was going to last. It was never easy for them. The distance was hard, Heather was hard, fighting years' worth of systemic oppression and bigotry was hard, waiting for Neelam to go through university was hard. But being there now, in the halls of Versailles on their wedding day, made every second of those five long years worth it.

They stopped in front of each other, both drinking in the sight of their soon-to-be spouse. Neelam's smile was so wide Gen thought it might split her face in two. Not that Gen's was any better. If anyone stumbled upon them, all they would see were two grinning idiots.

"Hi," Neelam squeaked, her voice an octave too high and buzzing with excitement. The sound was too precious not to cherish.

"Hi," Gen said back, watching as Neelam's face got impossibly brighter.

And then Neelam smacked Gen hard on the arm.

"What was that for?" Gen yelped, clutching onto the throbbing limb. Neelam looked far too pleased for someone who committed an act of violence.

"I wanted to surprise you!" Neelam exclaimed, throwing her lace-covered arms in the air. "Now it's all ruined!"

"You don't have to surprise me," Gen assured, grabbing hold of Neelam's hands before they could do any more damage. Not that she could ever really hurt Gen. As much as Neelam claimed over the years that she was a rebel, the girl didn't have a bad bone in her body. "I could look at you a thousand times and still have my breath taken away."

"That...was the cheesiest thing I have ever heard," Neelam complained, scrunching her nose even though Gen knew she secretly loved the 'mushy white people' lines Gen constantly fed her.

"That's only because you haven't heard my vows yet," Gen said with a laugh as she felt Neelam shudder.

"Is it too late to call this thing off?"

Gen frowned, challenge in her eyes. Oh, Neelam was going to _get it_ for that one...

"Neelam!" A loud voice down the hall called, drawing everyone's attention.

Gen would recognize that voice anywhere. She didn't even have to see the two supermodel-esque women walking their way to know that Neelam's family had finally arrived. Or, at least the Cousins - the infamous Princesses of India, Kushna and Risha.

Neelam squealed and rushed over to embrace the two women, which was comedic seeing as though she stood a good few inches shorter than them, and that was without the added height of their heels. They were dressed to the nines, each sporting a brand new kameez and dupatta in shades of blue and purple, both bedazzled with traditional gold jewelry.

"Eeek! I'm so glad you made it!" Neelam could barely contain her excitement, so happy to see two of her favorite people. Though Neelam had been traveling to and from France quite frequently since the start of wedding planning, it had been over a year since Gen had seen either Risha or Kushna. Which was a shame, because they were a lot of fun.

"Are you kidding? We would not miss this for the world," Kushna, the older sister, said as she pulled away from Neelam's hug to give Risha her turn. The royal sure liked to talk with her hands, making huge gestures with every word. It suited her big personality.

"You are so inspirational!" Risha, the younger sister, gushed.

"Really?"

"Of course!" Risha agreed, swatting at Neelam's arm playfully. "There's no way the elders can be mad at me for dating an _angrazee_ now that you're marrying a woman."

Risha had been not-so-discreetly dating said _angrazee_ or _white man_ \- the oldest son of a rather wealthy British lord - for years now under her family's nose; it was, arguably, India's worst-kept secret. Both Neelam and Gen had to fight not to roll their eyes.

"Girls, why are you harassing the brides?"

"Sorry Auntie H," Kushna apologized, that same scared look that everyone got when coming face to face with a no-nonsense Heather flashing over those graceful features. Even with a toddler on each hip, Heather was still a forced to be reckoned with. The smaller child reached out with grabby hands, and Kushna scooped him up, pressing her nose into his chubby cheek. "Thank you for looking after Karan."

"I'll send you my bill later," Heather replied, her tone wry and light, but it was so hard to tell if she was joking. Even dressed in a cream-colored, pearl encrusted suit with not a hair out of place and flawless makeup, Heather looked...frazzled. At least, frazzled for Heather's standards. Gen guessed it had something to do with the little children, the remaining of which choosing now to make a scene.

"Mama, down!" the toddler demanded, kicking her little legs so that Heather would finally let her run free.

"Zahrah! Come back here!" Heather yelled down the hall, about to pop a blood vessel. "I'm too old for this. Siddhartha lets these _loki_ get away with murder."

Gen cocked her head in confusion, not a word of that last bit making sense. It was perfectly clear to Neelam, who let out a dramatic sigh.

"You're the one who thought that having a baby would fix yours and dad's marriage."

A savage thing to say to the woman who was known to take on men twice her build on the council room floor and win with just a stare and a few choice words. And that was before she put her war face on...the face Neelam was getting the brunt of right this moment.

"Just because you are about to become queen of your own country does not mean I cannot book a flight whenever I want to whip your ass."

"Did you hear that?" Neelam turned to Gen, scandalized, her voice a few octaves higher than usual - probably because she knew that it was not an empty threat. "I just got threatened! An attempt was made on my life! Are you going to stand for this?"

"Don't drag me into this." Gen raised her hands in surrender. She could be dense, but she wasn't _that_ stupid.

Neelam continued to splutter, "I am your wife!"

"Not yet!"

Gen dodged any more of Neelam's protests and cleared the room before it became the scene of the next world war. Besides, she had a church to get to.

The SUV was parked out by the front steps, the driver waiting for her arrival. Henri was the first to the vehicle, making a quick perimeter before judging the area safe. The driver opened the door, but instead of an empty row, someone else was lounging in the back seat.

"Have no fear, the party is here!"

Wedding tux or no, high heels or no, queen or no, Gen was going to run to her brother and nothing could stop her. She leapt into the car and crashed into Beau, feeling every second of the months they spent apart. He was a little taller, a little broader, and so much tanner from his jaunt abroad. Even after eight semesters of Beau jetting to and from Illéa to attend university, and Gen still wasn't used to the distance. This was the longest they'd been without seeing one another - Gen having queenly duties and wedding planning and Beau finishing up his MBA and getting married himself.

"I've missed you," Gen said, her words muffled by her brother's floral-printed jacket. Even though Beau's fashion sense had tamed over the years, some aspects still remained.

"And I've missed you," Beau replied, putting a hand on her knee and squeezing. "I have so much to catch you up on. But first, we have to get you to your wedding. Driver, if you will?"

The man nodded cordially and shut the door. Gen could see Henri smirking out the window, Elyan tucked gently under his arm as they watched the car pull away. They would be following close behind in a separate car, and as much as Gen wanted her closest confidantes close to her on this very important day, she was grateful to have some time with her brother.

Per usual, Beau's presence took up all the air in the space. He regaled Gen with stories from the African savanna and the Amazon rainforest, having gone globe-trotting with Marcel for their month-long honeymoon. Beau swore he brought everyone presents, though the proof had yet to be seen. But that didn't matter; the best present was having Beau back in time to be at the wedding.

And then Beau said, "This isn't the best time, but I wanted to run something by you and get your opinion."

"Okay, what's up?" Gen asked, suspicious. He had a guilty face, one that let Gen know that she might not like what was going to come next.

"I've been thinking about this a lot, and I know it may sound drastic, but...I want to give up my title and renounce my place in the succession."

Gen reeled. Beau might as well have said that he was a flying purple dinosaur. That would have made more sense.

"You want to...leave the family?"

"Don't be dramatic," Beau sighed and rolled his eyes, overly fond. "I will still be your brother, our parent's son. But I don't want to be a prince. That title's not me anymore, and I didn't like the entitled, drunk bastard I was when I wore it. I'm grateful for where it's gotten me, but I need to move on to the next stage in my life, and that title is the only thing holding me back."

"I...I don't know what to say..." Gen replied honestly, unable to make sense of this drastic turn of events. "Are you sure about this?"

"More sure than anything," Beau confirmed, his smile soothing. If anyone had asked Gen five years ago if she would describe her brother as easygoing or serene, she would have laughed in their face. Now, Beau seemed at peace, fulfilled in a way that he used to search for in the bottom of liquor bottles. "You don't have to decide now. Just think about it."

Gen smiled and squeezed Beau's hand tightly. So much was changing, and so much of it unexpectedly. But whatever happened, Gen knew that they would face it together as a family.

The car pulled in front of Notre Dame, the cathedral crawling with screaming fans and press just as it had during Gen's coronation. There was a similar tension knotted in Gen's gut as she exited the vehicle arm in arm with her brother, but unlike during her coronation, this was not the bad kind. It was the low simmer of anticipation, and as Gen passed through those enormous double doors, it suddenly became very real that _yes, she was getting married today_.

Time moved much faster from there.

By the time she had blinked, there were finally alterations, make up touch ups, a flower pinned to her lapel, and Maman et Papa came by to give her farewell kisses. Then Gen was rushed up to an altar in front of nearly a thousand guests, the cathedral packed to the rafters, with the sound of a choir singing.

Evangeline walked down the aisle first, the lone bridesmaid, but she played the role so well. She was practically glowing in her pink chiffon gown, giving Gen a wide smile. Gen would not be where she was now without the support of her younger sister, the two of them having grown close as the years progressed. Evangeline had come into her own, her quietness transformed into a quiet confidence. She was still courting Lucas Aubry after all this time, his smitten face spotted a few rows behind the royal family. Still, Gen could not help but glance down at her sister's bare left ring finger and think that it would not remain that way for much longer.

Zahrah was quick to follow, the flower girl coaxed down the aisle by her mother who sat near the front, waving her arms and a cookie for good measure. The little girl was beyond adorable, tossing the petals in every direction as fast as her tiny fists would let her. When she finally did get to the end, Heather was quick to scoop the child up and place her in her lap.

Finally, _finally_ , the organ struck up the familiar wedding march and all rose to greet the bride who emerged from the double doors.

Everything was very traditional. They would have a traditional Hindu wedding next week, complete with a weeks' worth of festivities. Neelam had been planning the choreography for their Sangeet for months; the idea of Maman et Papa getting up and doing a traditional Indian dance - or any dance at all for that matter - was hilarious.

But now, everyone turned to lay their eyes on the bride.

Neelam walked confidently down the aisle with Siddhartha on her arm, her head held high and proud. Gen could not have been more in love.

There was no tension as Siddhartha passed Neelam off to Gen, only an exchange of well-wishes and smiles. Siddhartha kissed Neelam on the cheek as they parted, and he went to take his place with the rest of the Subramani clan. As soon as he was seated, Zahrah's tiny hands immediately reached out for her father. Siddhartha did not hesitate to give his daughter a kiss on the forehead, and next his wife who briefly smiled at the affection. Their hands were twined on the pew, and Gen felt her heart warm at the sight.

And then there was the rest of her family, Maman's shining eyes and Papa's wide smile and Beau's look of awe and Louis' two thumbs up, that had Gen nearly bursting with joy. Delphine was the only one missing, gone of her own volition to some private Italian university at the age of eighteen and never to return despite all the letters and olive branches extended over the years. Gen tried not to let that get to her. She had made her peace with her sister years ago, and only wished that Delphine could find peace of her own far away from France.

All those doubts and other little problems faded away as soon as Gen took Neelam's hands in hers.

Vows were exchanged, promises were made, and rings were slipped on left hands, but Gen's gaze never wavered from Neelam's.

This moment was perfect.

* * *

The reception was held back at Versailles.

The Hall of Mirrors had been converted into a dance hall, tables littered along the windows and chandeliers dimmed to fit the mood. A three course dinner, dessert, and unlimited champagne. Class and sophistication at its finest, at least, that was before the liquor started flowing and the real party started.

While their guests enjoyed the festivities, Gen and Neelam had so many people to thank and hands to shake that they barely had a moment to themselves. It made Gen wish she had taken a page out of Beau's book and married in a private ceremony. But, Neelam loved the people - _her_ people, Gen had to remind herself - and seeing Neelam shine under the shower of attention made the pleasantries bearable.

The boys were there too, of course.

Ulysse had painted their engagement portrait that now proudly hung in the hall with all the other ruling couples, and Lucas Travert was the one taking their wedding photos, running around the Hall of Mirrors with his camera at the ready, having the time of his life. Hugo insisted for a while that they have a dove releasing but that idea died when he realized that the wedding was indoors. Anatole couldn't make it, too busy saving lives and all that jazz, but his wedding present still sat on the table alongside a hundred others, the thought what counted most. Seb brought a tray of macarons from his father's patisserie, comfortable and content with himself in a way that he had not been throughout the Selection. Gen made a mental note to inquire about that later; even though they hadn't spoken in years, they were still friends.

She was so happy to see all of them...except one.

Gen wasn't going to lie; she had only invited Lochan out of obligation and had been hoping that he would RSVP 'no'. Instead, all five foot seven of him stood off to the side of the room, glowering into a champagne glass and silently judging everything. Gen probably would not have noticed him at all, or at least would have continued pretending not to see him, if he hadn't purposely sought her company.

"Would _Votre Majesté_ grace me with a dance?"

Such a formal request from someone she used to date. But, coming from Lochan's lips, she would expect nothing else.

His other had was in a fist at his side clenched so tightly his knuckle went white, only releasing it when Gen accepted his invitation to dance.

"I have to admit, I'm surprised you showed up."

"I surprised myself as well," Lochan hummed, his tone forever bored. "I thought I never wanted to see the inside of these gaudy halls again."

Gen did not particularly like having her home and reception called gaudy, but she managed to overlook the slight. "Why come?"

"I owe you my thanks, and one rather large apology." It looked like the words pained him, the tendons in his jaw nearly popping out as he forced them past his lips. Gen only reveled in the satisfaction for a moment, realizing how big a deal this was for someone like Lochan. "It has come to my attention that my actions during the Selection must not have been entirely helpful with handling your ordeal, but without your copious mistakes, I do not think I would be on the path I am today."

Gen was gobsmacked. This was huge for Lochan, something Gen would have considered an impossibility. Even if it was littered with tiny digs and diversions of blame, the apology in itself was sincere. She could read it in his eyes, dark and begging Gen not to drag out his misery any longer than necessary.

Gen merely sucked in a breath and shook her head. "Whoever made you see the light, whoever she is - "

"He," Lochan corrected, his posture stiffening for just a moment before he forced himself to relax, but even that was tense.

"He," Gen repeated, the gears in her head spinning slowly but surely as everything slid into place. And just when she thought that he couldn't get any more surprising. "Well, _he_ must be one saint of a person to put up with you."

Lochan quirked his lips into a brief smile, nothing more than a passing flash of contentment before returning to his neutral mask of haughtiness. Gen sighed, but she did not let her own happiness falter. Lochan was who he was, and not all of him was hatched in the deepest pits of Hell.

They spent the rest of their dance in silence, and when it ended they both nodded and parted ways. That would be the last time they spoke, an air of finality following Lochan as he returned to his table. For once, Gen wasn't sad about an ending. Lochan was going to be just fine.

Next to find her was Merlin; he caught her arm as she passed, his other hand firmly entwined with the chef he had taken her to see on their first date.

"What an exquisite suit," Merlin complimented, a knowing smile on his lips.

"And yours as well," Gen replied easily, recognizing a Freya Jackson when she saw it. Plus, Merlin was still with the designer even after fame took him all around the globe.

They shared a smile and went their separate ways. She would have to take the time to catch up with Merlin fully later, perhaps when her house wasn't full of a thousand strangers and she was being summoned by other familiar faces across the room.

Gen recognized the pair from meters away, multiple midnight video chats permanently ingrained in her memory.

Arlo had told Gen that it took Blaire a long time to calm down her anger toward Gen after he told his sister exactly what had gone down during the Selection - that there was a lot of cursing and broken-heartedness. Blaire did not look mad now, standoffish maybe. But that could have been because she was sandwiched between her parents while they oohed and ahhed over everything.

"No screaming this time?" Gen teased, though it was all in good fun. She would never intentionally hurt the girl - not again.

"No, I'm over my crush on you," Blaire said bluntly, uncrossing her arms to scoop up a glass of champagne as it passed. "Plus, I don't make it a habit to obsess over married women."

That broke the whole group down into giggles, which made Blaire flush a deep red. The champagne must have loosened her tongue a little too much. The girl stalked off, and Gen made a note to make sure Blaire hadn't drowned herself in the punch bowl when Arlo tugged at the sleeve of her jacket. He fixed her with those baby blues and jerked his head back, wanting to talk to her without his parents inserting their noses into things.

They walked away from the table, near the windows. Arlo stopped by a pillar and pulled out an envelope for Gen to take.

"What's this?" she asked, peeling at the fold.

"A wedding present."

Gen sucked in a breath in as she revealed two tickets. Two front row tickets to the opening night of his brand new play. "Arlo...I can't accept this."

"You can, and you will," Arlo insisted, pushing Gen's hands back. His lips curled up into a rueful half-smile. "After all, you were the inspiration for the show."

"Should I be scared?" Gen asked, tucking the tickets into her breast pocket for safe keeping, overwhelmed with gratitude.

"Very." Arlo's smile sharpened but retained its playfulness. Of course, Gen had read early reviews of what was being called the 'greatest performance of the decade'. Critics had been circling around Arlo, eagerly awaiting his next project after his breakout success three years prior. This show was supposed to be a satire of the Selection, and how quickly romance could go awry. It was titled _Princess, Interrupted_ and Gen could not wait to see it.

"Thank you."

Arlo nodded and raised Gen's knuckles to his lips, placing a kiss to the skin before turning back towards his family.

Gen no longer felt guilty over holding him back. She no longer feared for his broken heart. Arlo was thriving and doing wonderful things, just as she had always hoped.

On her way towards the Sweetheart Table, Gen chit chatted idly with the people she passed. She shook hands with Senator Lambert and checked in on Elyan and Henri, the former of which had piled her plate with sweets until it tipped perilously towards spilling. Her Illéan cousins were somewhere in this giant room, along with her new Indian in-laws, but Gen was distracted by a tap on her shoulder.

"May I have the honor?"

She would know that voice anywhere. Dante.

Gen had forgotten how dazzling that smile was, how white and alluring and completely honest. It was incredible then, and even more so now. Gen had spent too many nights after the Selection ended regretting her mistakes, hoping that she had not ruined the lives of so many innocent young men, but most of all Dante. Seeing him there, just as joyful and soft as he was before, made the years' old ache ease.

She extended her hand. "For you, anything."

The orchestra strummed up a much slower tune, though still lively.

"You look happy."

"I am happy. Neelam makes me happy," Gen replied, and even then she couldn't keep the stupid, dopey grin off her face when she mentioned her wife. "I hope you are?"

"I can't complain. I am very well looked after these days."

"Yes, I can see you wear the nobility well," Gen teased, taking him in from head to polished toe. Dante was always handsome before, but now, in a bespoke suit, meticulously groomed with his signature long hair styled back, he was superhumanly handsome.

Dante flushed, his cheeks turning pink just like they always did when Gen paid him compliments, proving that not even new suits and riches can change some things. Which was a relief, because Gen never wanted Dante to change. He was absolutely perfect the way he was, and Gen had no doubt that someday - and maybe soon judging by the pretty date he brought with him - he was going to make someone very happy.

"Your date is pretty cute," Gen noted, her head tilting subtly towards the young woman sitting at the table with Dante's chachi and chacha. Gen had yet to be formally introduced to her, but even from afar Gen could tell that she was pretty with her curly brown hair and infectious smile. Now, looks weren't everything, but it would be a shame to waste those good genes on just anyone.

"She is," Dante agreed, though he didn't seem to have much of an opinion. "Her name is Micaela. We just sort of ran into each other on the train one day, completely unplanned, but the best things always seem to be. She's sweet, driven, and has got a wicked tongue. Still, I'm hesitant to jump into something just yet."

"It has been five years," Gen pointed out. There was no way his heart was still mending, not over her, not after only knowing each other for a couple of months.

"Well, my last girlfriend set the bar pretty high. Her _grandmère_ even gave me a castle." Dante replied playfully with a shrug of his shoulders, and Gen quirked her lips up in to a smile.

"A castle I hear that you have turned into an orphanage," Gen countered. When she learned of the fate of Ramboulliet, her heart nearly burst; leave it to Dante to think of something so selfless.

"Better the children have it than let it gather dust." Oh Dante, ever so practical, and ever so eager to let his good deeds be cast aside. "Besides, what does a farm boy need with something like that?"

Dante was much more than just a farm boy, but Gen let it slide this time.

The song ended and Dante went back to Micaela, who grinned up at him with all the love and adoration a man like that deserved. She must have been just as kind as he was, which made everything all the better. If things worked out, and she hoped they did, Gen wanted to be introduced one day.

A heavy lump rammed into Gen's back, invading her personal space. If it wasn't for the pleasant, familiar smell of flowers and spice, then Gen would have elbowed the offender. However, she recognized this particular leech, and welcomed the unconventional embrace.

"Well hello there," Gen giggled, placing her hands over the smaller ones that wound around her waist.

Neelam hummed, tucking her head into Gen's shoulder, nosing at her throat. "Missed you."

"You sound sleepy," Gen commented, maneuvering Neelam so that she was not hanging off of Gen's arm but securely situated in them. Neelam's hair was a little rumpled, her makeup smudged around the corners, and she was warm from all the moving, but still just as beautiful as when Gen saw her walk down the aisle. For a moment, Gen entertained the idea of telling her wife just that.

"I'm exhausted," Neelam sighed, but she was still smiling. "In the best way."

"I'm thinking that we sneak away, ditch these clothes, take a long bubble bath, and call it a night."

Gen swore Neelam groaned, momentarily dead weight in Gen's arms. It was a pretty tempting offer...if they could even muster up the energy to draw water for the bath. Gen didn't want to call Elyan away from the party, and everyone else was having such a good time.

Her house was filled with merriment and laughter and joy. It was perfect. Gen never wanted it to end.

"That sounds like a pretty boring wedding night," Neelam teased, her nose scrunching up like it did every time she referred to something sexual or scandalous.

"There's plenty of time for that," Gen said, holding Neelam a little bit closer and closing her eyes. Lips pressed into Neelam's hair and Gen felt her wife's smile slip into something fond. "We've got all the time in the world."

And it was true. They had nothing but a whole life of memories to make ahead of them.

Fireworks broke out across the sky, lighting the night in a dazzling array of colors as she and Neelam swayed to the music. Everything Gen needed was right there in her arms.

She was home.

* * *

Gen, Neelam, and the Schreave de Sauveterre family will return in Where the Heart Goes, a TBaH/PI spin off coming soon!


End file.
